#edit: went back and changed a few tiny things

[schluttforschlatt]

This Kitty Off the Chain (NSFW)

I haven't written smut in YEARSSSSSS but i wanted to give u a lil treat <3 <3 <3

✴︎MINORS DO NOT INTERACT✴︎

wc: 3.5k

warnings: fem!reader, language, smut (obviously) -munch!schlatt, fingering, tiny bit of size k!nk

You thought about the price of the room the elevator ride up to it. Four thousand dollars. You made a mental list of things that would change your life for that price. Down payment on a car. Brand new PC tower and fixtures. Rent for the next three months. Hell, a trip to the doctors office for that back pain you’ve had for years. And yet, that was how much one singular night’s stay in this particular room cost. You watched as the elevator doors opened, and followed behind the two taller men you were with.

The younger of the two lead the way, explaining the amenities and trying to reason with the price. Trevor, the slightly older of the two, had a video camera at the ready and was nodding as the first man, Schlatt, stopped in front of the door to the room and swiped a card.

“You two are about to feel so fucking poor.” He joked, pushing the door open and inviting you and Trevor inside.

You weren't quite sure why Schlatt had invited you on this trip with him, but you prayed that by the time your visit was over, you’d have an answer.

For the past few months, the two of you had been growing closer as friends. It started with him asking for help editing clips from a trucking sim stream to create shorts. He wanted outside eyes to pick the best moments without the bias of what he considered funny, so you made the drive to his place and let him teach you the basics of his editing software. You’d bantered back and forth with each other while splicing scenes together to make clips. Schlatt had filmed a handful of video intros while you edited, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him anytime he turned his persona on. It’s kinda hot, you thought, watching a man who always spoke politely and softly to you one-on-one flip a switch and become a loud and boisterous asshole.

You would shiver anytime he stood behind you, hands on the back of the chair you were in as he checked to see your progress. You swore to yourself, vowing to push any feelings down and away, and not let them interfere with your growing friendship.

Enjoying the work you had done, Schlatt invited you back several more times to edit more shorts for his channels. You thoroughly liked spending time with him like this, parallel playing in comfortable silence. Occasionally, he would put his hands on your shoulders and squeeze as if giving a shoulder massage or gentle pat on the back, which was always unexpected but never not appreciated.

The editing and clipping lead to him asking you to help with filming, going over the basics of camera operation and teaching you how to get his good side. Filming lead to you helping him out with various projects, having gained enough trust from him to voice ideas and opinions that you thought would improve the project or make it flop. Often he would place a gentle hand on the small of your back while walking around a location with you, leaning down close to your face to better hear you. It would make your heart race anytime you felt his breath close to your cheek, and anytime a hand ghosted over your hip you thought you would explode.

Pretty soon after, you had become his shadow, following Schlatt everywhere he went, and with time, you noticed more confident and intentional touches from Schlatt. He’d wrap an arm around your shoulder while watching a movie on his couch or reach out to hold your hand while walking. Every touch felt electric, and every time you hung out you felt tension grow.

The moment that had changed everything for you was during a trip to the grocery store. Schlatt had asked you to accompany him and help pick out ingredients for meal prepping. You had taken a few nutrition and health classes and he thought you’d be able to help him put together healthy meals. You joked with him the ride there about his tendency to latch onto junk food, and decided to be a little bold and make a comment about semen.

“I bet your cum tastes like battery acid,” your statement caught him and yourself off guard. He scoffed and glanced over at you, taking his right hand off the steering wheel. “You eat like shit, you need to eat some pineapple or something.” His hand came to rest on your left knee as you finished your sentence, electricity shooting through your body. He gave a devious smirk to you.

“Oh?” He says pulling into the parking lot. He removes his hand to put the car in park, but then places it back on your leg, this time on your thigh, inching closer to your core. “Well, I bet you taste pretty sweet.” Your eyes were wide as saucers as a blush washed over your face. You shifted your gaze to your hands placed in your lap. Schlatt lifted the hand resting on your thigh before bringing it back down with a soft slap. The sensation shocked you and made you jump, but at the same time turned you on just a tiiiiiiny bit.

“C’mon, I wanna get this over with as fast as possible.”

That was two weeks ago, and since then the teasing only grew more and more common.

You watched as Schlatt set his bags down by the hotel’s door, snapping back to reality.

As Schlatt turned various lights on you couldn’t help but stare at everything in awe. The entry area was huge, with a large table and chairs, and you were envious at how spacious it was. You ran a finger along the hardwood as you followed your friends further into the suite, eyes darting between the expensive looking art on the walls and the wall-mounted television displaying a slideshow of the hotel’s garden.

“Holy shit, look at this bed,” you heard Schlatt call out, turning your attention towards him. He sat down on the edge and bounced a few times, laughing. “Shits not even against the wall and barely squeaks.” He continues laughing as he stands up and beckons Trevor to follow him into the closet and bathroom behind the false wall.

You stayed behind, feet planted in the bedroom and mind racing with naughty thoughts.

“Maybe tonight’s the night.” You mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to rid of the impure images stirring up.

Your small group finished your self guided tour around the room, and Trevor and Schlatt began setting up to film. You separated yourself from the boys, deciding to settle down on one of the soft couches and give your legs a break.

You watched Trevor follow Schlatt around, zooming in on various features that only a rich asshole would think to have. Who the fuck needs a flashlight in a closet? Fucking yuppies.

The filming concluded with the boys clinking together cans of beer, showing off the view from the balcony. You had excused yourself to the hall to make a phone call, checking in with your best friend to let them know you safely made it to the hotel. You knocked on the door, hoping one of the boys would hear you, only to be surprised that Trevor had opened it, his bags in hand.

“Oh! Are you not staying with us? I thought Jay said the three of us would share the room.” You stared up at him with a quizzical look, confused about this deviation from the plan you were informed of. Trevor gave you a sheepish grin, motioning for you to enter the room.

“Nah, I’m staying down the street,” you switch spots with him, you now holding the door open for the man. “Try not to have too much fun. We’ve got an early day with the boys tomorrow.” Trevor winked at you before walking down the hall to the elevator. You let the door shut behind you as you made your way back over to the couch you previously occupied. Schlatt was now sitting there, one leg resting on the table in front of it, phone pulled close to his face as he typed away. You cleared your throat and plopped down next to him.

“Why’d Trevor leave?” You asked him, plopping yourself down next to the man. He looked up from his phone to smile at you, locking the device and setting it on the arm of the couch.

“Oh, he didn’t wanna share a room. Somethin’ ‘bout missin’ his girl, probably gonna jack off on FaceTime with ‘er.” You laughed, a little caught off guard by his response, but also a little distracted by the arm that had come up around your shoulders. The touch made you shiver.

“‘Ya wanna watch a movie or somethin’ doll?” Jay asks. You nod and he brings the remote up, scanning through the channels. The nickname caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stick up. Pet names had been new between you two, and every time he used one, you had to fight the urge to climb onto his lap and shove your tongue down his throat. You crossed one leg over the other and squeezed them tight together, an attempt at self control.

He settles on some shitty 90’s action flick that doesn’t hold your attention. Maybe this was intentional, you thought, pressing yourself closer into his side. You don’t notice the way his breath hitches in his throat at your movement, but you do notice when the arm around your shoulders slinks down, hand now gently resting at your hip. You try to focus on the film playing out, but the tension between you and the man next to you is much more distracting.

About ten minutes in, you feel Schlatt shift. You subtly try to glance over at him, only to be distracted by the growing problem in his lap that he is trying to cover with a pillow. You pretend to not notice what he’s attempting to fix and instead bring a hand up to place on a chest, only to have the large hand on your hip squeeze gently.

“Oh.” Schlatt whispered, and you could feel his heart rate pick up pace under your palm. You swallowed a growing lump in your throat and said a silent prayer before speaking up yourself.

“Is this okay?” You whisper back at him, too nervous to bring your eyes up to his. You feel him nod, his eyes not leaving the television screen, and melt a little more into his side. Your mind was racing, trying to think of something sly to say when he cleared his throat.

“Um… can we… uuhhh…” you look up at him and notice how red his cheeks and ears had gotten, not helping your own growing desire to see this man flustered and falling apart. You took a deep breath and put on a brave face.

“Can we what, Jay?” You ask, hand boldly coming up to rest on his cheek, pulling his attention to you instead of the screen. His eyes flicked from your eyes to lips, then back to your eyes. Okay, maybe we are getting somewhere.

“Would it be weird if we, uhh….” He trailed off, bringing his left hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Cuddled? I guess?” His voice was quiet, almost mouse like. You couldn’t help but giggle at him, motioning for him to move.

“I’d be more that fine with that, Jay.” Your words came out more seductive that you had intended, but as he readjusted himself and the pillow slipped off his lap, you couldn’t help but notice the way his… not-so-little friend twitched.

Once he was settled, you clambered back over to him, tucking yourself into his side. His arm came to rest around you once more, hand placed halfway between your hip and ass.

The two of you returned your eyes back to the television, but it was clear that neither were paying attention to whatever the hell this film was.

About twenty minutes after switching positions, you noticed Schlatt’s hand slowly pushing the hem of your shirt up, fingers ghosting over the skin of your stomach. You squeezed your legs together tightly, crossing your ankles, and couldn’t help but let out a gasp as one of his digits traced over a particular sensitive patch of skin. Your heart began pounding inside your chest, and you started thinking of ways to excuse yourself to go take care of your now soaked panties. You felt Schlatt’s hand rub back over your hip and squeeze, only adding to your problem.

C’mon, you’re a big girl. You can only do this two ways, you thought. Obviously there’s some sort of attraction here if he’s trying to hide his boner and you’re wetter than the fucking sea. Either get up and take a cold shower, possibly making things awkward between you guys, or man the fuck up and make a move, which could also possibly make things awkward between you. You understood that the logical side of you would probably be the better bet and make this less awkward that it needed to be, but the horny side was shouting over the logical, winning this yelling match. It’s been months since anyone’s touched you, and you’ve always wondered what he was like in bed anyways. Grow a pair and make the fucking move. You swallowed hard, kicking your plan into action.

“Schlatt,” your voice wavered nervously.

“Yeah?” His sounded much the same. Now or never.

“Can I…” you trailed off, finding the strength to speak your peace. You sat up, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face, turning to make eye contact with him. This is it, bitch. “Can I… can I try something?” You notice the way his pupils widen and Adam’s apple bob at your words, waiting for a response. He nods, eyes not leaving yours.

Letting your body take control, you swing a leg over his hips, straddling the man before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“You can stop me at any point,” you flick your tongue over his earlobe, eliciting a small moan from the man, only fueling you. “I won’t be offended.” You feel two large hands latch onto your hips as you begin to place wet kisses down his neck, facial hair tickling your nose. You work your way across his neck, left to right, letting your hands wander under his tee-shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up towards his shoulders. You feel one of his hands leave your hip, and you pull his shirt up a bit as if asking him to take it off. He removes the other hand and obliges, returning them back to your body. You push back a bit to drink this new view in, taking a finger to trace over the patches of hair covering his chest before latching your lips to his collarbone. You continue to work your lips and tongue across his body, only stopping when you feel a hand shake through your hair, tugging it into a makeshift ponytail. You stop, eyes shooting up to his.

“Sweetheart,” his voice is raspy, almost lost. For a moment you’re worried you’ve crossed a line. “This isn’t very fair t’me. Wanna change that?” He tugs up the hem of your shirt as if asking for permission, only for you to whip it over your head before he can do it himself. Before the shirt hits the floor, his hands are grabbing at your chest and you have to thank yourself for not wearing a bra today. He pulls you forward, latching his own lips to your neck now, kissing and licking his way to your nipples while pushing your breasts together. You can’t help but moan as he sucks on the tissue, hands exploring your tits. He pulls his mouth off with a “pop”.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” He lets go of your chest, hands snaking down to your thighs. He hoists you up off of his lap briefly before standing himself, now carrying you further into the room. “You’re like a fucking succubus, y’know?” With a few strides, he’s throwing you down onto the bed before reaching down to unzip his shorts. As soon as he undoes the button, you reach out to stop him.

“Wait- can I do that?” Before he can respond, you’re sliding off the bed and sinking down to your knees, hands grabbing at the skin above his knees. You lean forward, eyes locking directly with his, and take the zipper between your teeth, tugging the metal down. His eyes roll back and he moans, as a hand once again grabs ahold of your hair, tugging it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He mutters, stepping out of the shorts and letting them drop to the floor after pulling your hair, guiding you away to let the garment fall. Before he could get another word in, your hands latch onto the elastic of his boxers as you lick your lips. He tugs on your hair again, pulling you back.

“If I remember correctly, you said my cum probably tastes like battery acid, and yet here you are, desperately begging for my dick,” he sounds smug and has a smirk painting his lips, which is doing nothing but turning you on even more. He pulls you up, still by the hair, before letting go of it and shoving you down on the bed by your shoulders. “I don’t think that’s very fair that you get to make fun of me then try and make me cum, princess. I’ve been starving all day, let me have dessert first, yeah?”

He has one hand fondling your breasts as the other tugs down your leggings, the cold air of the room sending a tingle to your core via the soaked lace thong now exposed to him. He tosses the article of clothing behind him and crouches down to kneel between your legs, whistling at the view.

“Did you wear these for me?” He talks down to you while slipping a finger under the waistband, snapping the elastic against your skin before leaning down to press a kiss to your hip. You whine and buck your hips up, anything to feel some sort of relief. Schlatt chuckles at you, and it sounds pitiful.

“Please, Jay, please.” You whine again, writhing.

“Please, what, doll?” He teases, hot breath hovering by your belly button.

“Please just tou-“ you cut yourself off with a moan, feeling the man in front of you lick a stripe up your slit, facial hair tickling your thighs. Your hands latch onto the thick strands of his hair, pulling him back down to your pussy. You feel him move the thin lace with his teeth before his tongue makes direct contact with your clit. He hums into you, dragging his tongue through your folds before pursing his lips around your clit once again.

You can’t help it when your legs wrap around his head, and from the groans coming from the larger man, he didn’t mind one bit. He brought arm up to hold you down, resting it across your lower stomach, while snaking his other hand between your legs, teasing at your labia before slipping inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, throwing your head back. Never in a million years did you think this would become a reality. You had always assumed Schlatt would rather be on the receiving end of head, but here in this moment, you wanted to thank any past lovers of his for teaching him how to use his mouth for something other than snarky comments. “Jay, I- I’m-“ you moaned again, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers curled up inside you just so. You've only just started, but with the stress from the past week of travel, you were coming undone in record time.

“Jus’ fuckin’ cum, needa fuckin’ taste you,” he barked out, barely lifting himself off of you to speak. Between the pressure on your stomach, his long fingers reaching spots you’ve never been able to, along with his tongue and lips on your clit, you couldn’t hold on much longer. You felt a familiar pressure building inside of you, causing you to cry out louder than before.

“I’m gonna- I’m go-,” you felt his tongue pick up speed in tandem with his fingers and you let go, shaking as the most intense orgasm you’ve had in a long while rocked your world. You were crying out, tears spilling from your eyes as he continued his magic, working you through the height of it all. You felt him withdraw his fingers and take a deep breath once your own had steadied out, and you were fearful to make eye contact with him. You settled for staring at his soaked shoulder, following it as he stood up and hovered over you.

“I’m so sorry, Jay I should’ve said something bef-“ you were cut off by his lips crashing into yours, the taste and slick of your arousal very present on his lips and mustache. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, and you couldn’t help but finally make eye contact with him. His eyes were half lidded and looked awestruck.

“I coulda’ been makin’ ya’ squirt like that for months? Fuck, I’ve been missing out.” He leaned back in to kiss you again, bringing a sticky hand up to your cheek. You pulled back to take a deep breath before sliding your hand down his chest again and clearing your throat.

“So, um… you want me to give you a blowjob now or…?” You trailed off and Schlatt scoffed, moving your hand to the front of his boxers where a cold wet spot had formed.

“I’m not opposed, but you’re gonna have t’ give me like twenty minutes,” you looked up at him confused before he continued with a sheepish grin. “I came in my boxers the second you started tuggin’ on my hair.”

alright chat, how we feeling about this one??? feedback is always appreciated :))))))

[writtenapoiogy]

the party & the after party; satoru gojo

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: You don’t know how you ended up in this predicament exactly. At one moment you were at a party looking for your roommate then you were bumping into star basketball player, Satoru Gojo. And then you were in his car heading to a basketball court to learn a lesson or two about the sport. One thing led to another and you ended up at his apartment.

word count: 5k

warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, porn w lil plot, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, protected/unprotected sex (you'll see what i mean), penetrative sex, choking, you match his freak and he can't get enough of you, use of pet names: baby, pretty, and pretty girl, and probably some more i forgor

a/n: i definitely promised to have this posted DAYS AGO sorrryyy life was doing its thing but i had a lot of fun writing this and writing for satoru so definitely be expecting more from me. this is also the most i've ever written for a oneshot so enjoy HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY SATORUUU (ill edit this lattteerrrr)

It had been officially forty five minutes since your friend ran off and disappeared. You didn’t know what she was up to. But you were going to go home feigning tiredness.

You went up stairs and checked every unlocked door, which were few. You tried the last door at the end of the hall and, “OH MY GOD! I’m sorry, fuck, sorry.” Your hand flung to your face, covering your eyes. You were not expecting to see Suguru Geto balls deep in your best friend on top of the bathroom sink.

You slammed the door shut and began to head towards the front door. When you turned the corner to go down the stairs, you came face to face with a mans strong chest. Your hand that was still covering your eyes, for god knows why, flew out to grab onto something so you didn’t fly completely back and hurt yourself. Long calloused fingers wrapped around yours arms, pulling you flush against his chest.

When you finally gathered yourself and look at who was in front of you, you were met with striking blue eyes and stark white hair. Satoru Gojo, star basketball player. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You uttered.

He beamed a smile at you. “It’s okay. Glad I was here to catch you. You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Have you seen, Suguru?” Satoru peeked his head down the corridor, “haven’t seen him in almost an hour.”

“Don’t open the last door at the end of the hall, unless you wanna get flashed by your best friend.” A shiver runs through your body at the memory of your friend digging her fingertips into Suguru’s buttocks.

Satoru scrunched up his face at the image. “Wait, where are you going. It’s only eleven. The night just started.” He reached for your arm as you began to head down the stairs.

“Uh, parties really aren’t my thing.”

“You run the basketball webpage right?” He was quick to change the subject in a sad attempt at keeping you here a little longer.

You felt your face heat up and your eyes went wide. That’s an anonymous site. And also not your proudest work.

“Based on your reaction, I’m going to assume I’m right.”

“How’d you know..”

“I always see you courtside with a notebook. Didn’t take long for me to put two and two together.” Satoru was very observant and had had his eyes on you since the start of the season. During your freshman year, a senior was running the webpage and after they graduated it was passed on to you. He took notice to the badge you wore during games that stated ‘special media’.

You continue to walk away from him, completely embarrassed. You knew your reports on the games weren’t the best but you didn’t care because it was anonymous. Now the star player was standing in front of you basically saying he has known this whole time.

You ran your hands down your face. “I know, I know. Not the best sports reporter. But to be fair, I’m a creative writing major. I just took this on for the extra credit.”

“It’s not that bad…”

“But still bad. Oh my god. This is so embarrassing.”

“No really you just need like a tiny basketball lesson so your reports are more engaging.” He offered. 

“Yeah. I’ve been to every game this season and it still makes no sense to me.” Maybe because you were a little too focused on the star player and not enough on the game itself.

“Then you’re just in luck because I was just about to head to the court play some ball.. You’re free to join me.” He most definitely was not about to leave. He was actually looking for Suguru to play beer pong but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hang out with just you.

“I should probably wait for my friend so she’s not worried.” Your friend and Suguru had been messing around for sometime now so you knew she was fine and you also knew that she didn’t care if you just disappeared from the party, she’d find you back home anyway.

“They probably aren’t coming out anytime soon. Just send her text. C’mon, at least I’m not forcing you to stay at this party.”

He had a good point. You would rather be anywhere else than this dumb party. Your friend told you it was sort of a birthday party— this was not what you were expecting. You would also be a fool not to agree to spend some time with Satoru. “Okay, why not.”

There was a silence in the car— not an uncomfortable silence, but still a silence non the less.

“So a creative writing major, huh?” He broke the silence.

“Yeah, I know, not the kind of major that pays the bills but I love it.”

He smiled over at you and your heart flipped as it attempted to break free from your chest.

New topics began to flow between the two of you. You learned new things about him and he learned some about you too. You learned that he didn’t mind the attention from basketball but it was also slightly the reason he doesn’t want to go further with it. He was a business major. 

You pulled up to an outdoor basketball court. And that is when you realized you had left your coat. You had worn a tracksuit to the party— your coat being the only thing that really kept you warm. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot my coat.” You recalled walking past the closet which held your coat hostage currently.

“It’s okay you can wear my hoodie.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I don’t want you getting cold for my sake.”

His long fingers dipped underneath the neckline and he pulled it off, swiftly. “I insist.”

You took the fabric from his hands and you were immediately engulfed with his heavenly scent. So warm and inviting. You pulled it over your head in the small space of his car, obscuring your vision— you missed the way his stare lingered on the exposed skin of your abdomen.

“Alright hotshot show me what you got.”

He smiled at you and then the two of you got out of the car. God you couldn’t get enough of his smile.

Satoru was a bit of a show off on the court, always. But especially right now with just you in attendance. He was swift and quick on his feet. Every time he made a basket he shot you a dazzling smile. “Your turn my lovely poet.” Satoru tossed the ball to you lightly. 

You caught the ball. “I’m not a poet and I can’t play basketball.” You stood and met him in the middle of the court. You were never really good at sports so you stuck to your books— that’s what got you your scholarships.

“And I’m a good teacher. I do coach a youth basketball team when I’m free.”

You sigh, “What’s in it for me? I thought I was just here to observe so I could write better.”

“Well that and to get you moving around so you can warm up. You’ve gotta be freezing over there.” He pleaded with you, “Please it’ll be fun.”

His words made you realize just how cold you actually were. You reluctantly agreed to let him teach you some things. For the sake of being warm and not to get closer to the tall man standing in front of you. Right?

He first showed you how to dribble the ball and then went on to show you how to shoot. Your first attempt, the ball flew over the backboard. Your second, the ball hit the bottom part of the net— nowhere close to the rim. An third attempt, the ball flew towards the hoop with promise before it hit the edge of the rim and bounced back to the two of you.

Satoru threw his hand out and caught the ball before it could hit you. “Okaayy, lets work on your stance a little. Yeah?” He placed the ball back in your hands before he walked behind you and hovered his hands over your hips, “May I?”

You turned your head towards him when you heard the closeness of his voice. Satoru was extremely close to you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a little crush on him. You just didn’t want to admit cause who didn’t have a crush on Satoru Gojo. 

He was attractive, obviously. You weren’t blind— you just hadn’t seen him up close and personal. He was absolutely the most handsome person you had ever laid your eyes on. He could have anyone he wanted. There was no way he’d pick you.

His bright blue eyes had a sparkle to them. You felt yourself getting lost in them before your eyes trailed down to his lips. His soft pink lips. Oh, how you would love to feel them against your own.

As he said your name he couldn’t help but smile when he saw where your eyes had lingered to. He wanted to lean in. He wanted to close that gap between the two of you.

“Um, yeah. Yeah that’s fine.”

He placed his hands on your hips and your mind went completely blank. It’s as if his fingers were ablaze and you could feel the burn through the clothes against your skin.

After he helped you fix your stance he explained to you how simple it would be from there. His hands went from your hips up to your arms and you had to take a deep breath to center yourself. “Alright now just toss it.” His lips were right next to your ear. “C’mon you got this.”

You almost melted right then and there. However, you still stood strong and you threw the ball and to your surprise it actually went in.

You hollered and hopped a couple of times before turning around and wrapping your arms around Satoru. He was so warm and he smelled so good. You could really get lost in his arms. You two stood like that for a few minutes before your brain came back to you and you pulled away, clearing your throat.

He smiled down at you, “I told you you could do it.” 

After he retrieved the ball he went in for a dunk and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down to his exposed lower stomach. Your eyes caught white hair that trailed down into his sweats.

You scoff, “Show off.”

“What you wanna try to dunk? I can go get you a step stool if you want.”

Oh he thought he was so funny. “Jackass.”

He let out a boisterous laugh. “Hey, c’mon, I was just messing around. Why don’t you try to take the ball from me. I’ll go easy on you.”

He explained to you that this was to make sure that the person you’re guarding cannot pass the ball to their teammate or shoot the ball and score a point. 

Every time your hand got close to the ball it was immediately out of your reach yet again. “Satoru, you said you’d go easy on me.” You frowned.

“This is me going easy.”

Oh.

You continue to try and take the ball from him this time he goes for a score and shoots the ball, causing you to trip on your feet and ram face first into his chest. You both come crashing down to the ground. Just before crushing you underneath him, he caught himself with one of his forearms on the ground and his other hand right next to your head— caging you beneath him.

His breath was hitting your face and you could smell the faint sent of alcohol. “Did you drink tonight? C-cause you drove.”

“I just had one beer. And you got here safe didn’t you?”

“Yeah…” You let out a barely there whisper. You took in all of his features. His fluffy eyelashes. You fingers twitched to touch his cheek.

You hadn’t realized how deeply you were staring at his lips till your eyes moved to meet his and he was unashamedly staring at your slightly agape mouth. 

Then in the distance a car alarm went off and the two of you scrambled away from each other. Breaking the tension in the air.

Satoru quicky busied himself with the basketball and began moving around the court again. Your eyes were glued to him, much like when you attended one of his games. There were just a few things you were noticing. Things you tried so hard to ignore before. 

You noticed how his hand easily gripped the ball. His hands were large. And then when he spun the ball on his finger you thought you were done for. Your mind having inappropriate thoughts about the white haired man in front of you.

What his long fingers would feel like wrapped around your neck…. Or how they would feel inside of you..

“Hellloo? Earth to Y/N.” Satoru was now standing directly in front of you. He laughed at the shock on your face. “I thought I lost you for a second there.”

“Sorry. Uh, what time is it. It feels like its getting late.”

He looked down at his arm to check the time on his watch. “It’s just a little past midnight.”

“I should probably go home.”

“Why?”

“I-,” You started.

“Cause it’s Saturday night so I know you don’t have class.” Satoru really didn’t want you to leave. He was enjoying being around you and he didn’t want the night to end. “Please. Stay. Have some fun with me.”

You laugh. “It’s freezing.”

“I didn’t say we had to stay at the court.” Fuck it. He was gonna figure out how to spend the rest of the night with you. “Would you wanna go back to my place?”

“And do what?” Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of being alone with him at his apartment.

“Whatever you want.” And he did truly mean whatever you wanted. Because he wanted you and he would be through the roof if you wanted him too. 

He had this look in his eye and how could you refuse him. “Okay.”

You made your way back to Satoru’s car and you felt his hand cover yours on the door handle, “Let me.”

You turned to look at him and yet again he was extremely close to you. You were starting to think this man didn’t understand the definition of personal space but you didn’t mind it. Not when it was him.

But now you thought of this closeness as dangerous. You had been stopping yourself from kissing his soft and tempting lips all night. You knew if he got close to you again you wouldn’t be able to hold back.

You took in your surroundings and he had you caged in against his car. “Satoru?”

“Yea..”

Fuck it.

You brought your hands up to his head and tangled your fingers in his pillow soft hair and brought him down to close the gap between you two. You moaned against his lips and felt your body mold against his. He tasted so sweet and all you wanted to do was indulge in him.

Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you completely against him. All he could think was yes yes yeswhen you kissed him. He parted his lips and nipped at your bottom lip.

Your fingers tugged his locks when you felt his teeth against your lip. He moaned into your mouth and your brain turned to mush. You felt a familiar knot begin to form in your gut.

His hands that were wrapped around you went down to your ass and he ground you against his hips— making you feel how hard he was.

Satoru reluctantly pulled away from you because he knew that if the two of you stayed where you were he might’ve taken you right there against his car.

“Fuck, get in. Now. Please.” He said, desperately.

You placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth and nodded as you got in the car when he opened the door.

When he got in the car he immediately pulled out his cell and sent a text to Suguru telling him not to come back to the apartment tonight because he had company.

On the short drive to his place his hand stayed on your upper thigh. He drew enticing circles along your inner thigh which had you spreading your legs for him. You wished you had opted for a skirt tonight and not a sweatsuit.

He was on you as soon as you guys walked in. He was standing behind you with his arms running up your abdomen underneath your layers of clothing. He walked you towards his bedroom with his mouth attached to your neck.

“Satoru..” You whined at the sensation of his touch. He was driving you insane in the best way possible.

Satoru hummed, “I love the way you say my name.” He stripped you of his hoodie that you still had on. He started to undress you slowly. When he pushed your pants down, he made sure to kiss your legs all the way down till the fabric pooled at your feet. Soon you were standing in nothing but your matching lace set. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You felt yourself getting shy underneath his gaze. You needed to level the playing field. You balled your hand in his shirt and pulled him closer to you. You turned the two of you so that his back was to the bed.

You started to push his shirt up his chest and he made quick work of removing the item of clothing. You let yourself take in his sculptured body. He looked like a greek statue. Carved straight from marble.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

Your eyes shot up from his v-line and right to his lust filled eyes. “Shut up.” You shoved him onto the bed but he was quicker than you thought. Satoru had pulled you on top of him as he fell back. For nearly the third time this night.

He chuckled into the space between you two, “We have to stop meeting like this.” He smirked at you before he flipped the both of you over so that he was looming over you. He captured your lips in his again. It was searing compared to the last one. His wet warm tongue slipped into your mouth and you welcomed him with a moan.

With you in his bed and him on top of you, his smell was all around you. It made you wanna melt into his sheets and never leave. It was undoubtedly intoxicating. You brought your hands to his beautiful soft hair again and pulled him harder against you.

His hands were all over you. He moved his head down and laid kisses to your jaw then trailed down to your neck— his fingers occupied with unhooking your bra. When he freed your breasts he immediately brought his mouth down to one of the hardened buds.

Your back arched at the sensation. “Oh, fuck.”

Satoru lapped at your sensitive nub while his unoccupied hand tweaked the other. You felt your underwear dampen when his teeth scrapped against you. He let off of it with a pop and then dragged his tongue down you. He stopped at the top of your panties and nipped at the skin there.

It crossed your mind what he was about to do. “Oh. Satoru, you don’t have to.” Being eaten out wasn’t really one of your favorite things in bed.

He frowned, “You don’t want me to.” Satoru desperately wanted to taste you. He wanted to leave you trembling and gushing on his tongue.

“It just doesn’t really… do much for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never really, erm, finished from it…” You fiddled with your fingers, purposely not looking him in his bright blue eyes.

“Oh, baby, that’s a shame but I gotta make sure you’re ready. I’m about to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

Your heart swelled at the pet name before you audibly gulped. He smirked devilishly up at you before he wrapped his hands around your calves and pulled you down to the edge of his bed.

Satoru got on his knees in front of his bed, where your legs now dangled. He slowly pulled your panties down your legs and he let out a low groan when a string of wetness connected you to the fabric. “You’re so wet for me, hmm. I can’t wait to taste you.” He said in a pleased hum.

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit. You felt that knot tighten just a tad but enough for you to know that you had never had this done to you properly. He moved his head away from your wet heat and placed kisses on your inner thighs. Satorugripped under your knees and pushed your legs up.

He saw your hands gripping his sheets in anticipation. “Put your hands in my hair. Pull as much as you want, I like it.”

Oh?

You pushed his hair off of his forehead and ran your fingers through the strands before tugging lightly to test the waters. You were pleased to hear a low whine leave his lips. 

He licked from your entrance up to your clit before he started to lap at your clit like he was making out with it. You lost your mind. You couldn’t control the noises that left your lips.

“Ah..” You jutted you hips up against his face, involuntarily.

Satoru closed his mouth on your clit and started to suck just as he sunk his long middle finger inside of you. He began to pump into you at a slow pace.

“Shit.” You panted and tightened your grip in his hair making him moan against your sensitive nub. The pleasures he was giving you was a thousand times better than what you did by yourself. He was reaching places inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. Places your fingers could never dream of reaching.

He stopped suckling your clit and laid his tongue flat when you started to grind down on his finger. You were getting close to coming so so close. He added another digit to the finger that was already inside of you.

Your back arched off the bed and you pulled his hair harder than you had all night when those two fingers curved and hit the sweet soft spot deep inside of you. You were left babbling and mumbling. All he could hear was his name and a bunch of pleas and curses.

Satoru wrapped his lips around your swollen nub again as he continued to assault your g-spot. Your orgasm hit you in a flash of blacks and reds. A loud moan left your lips and your hands went lax in his hair.

He removed his mouth from you and let out a deep chuckle. His fingers continued to pump in you, letting you ride out your high. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He looked down as he removed his fingers from you, your juices glistening his chin and his fingers. He brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off, “and just as sweet as I thought.”

Your mind was completely blank from your earth shattering orgasm. You just stared at him dopey.

“Are you sure you wanna do this? We can stop now.” Satoru asked when he came up to your face after you came down from your orgasm. And you truly couldn’t believe he would ask you a question like that mere inches away from your face with your juices dripping down his chin.

You aggressively nodded your head. You needed him. More than anything.

“C’mon use your words, pretty.” He hummed and it sent you reeling. His voice sounded so sultry and melodic. “Haven’t even got to fuck you dumb yet.”

“Yes, please. M’sure. I need you.”

“Yeah? I need you too.” He moved away from you and you immediately sat up to see where he was going. You saw him going to his nightstand and grab a condom. That’s when you remember what he said before he ate you out. 

I gotta make sure you’re ready.

And that’s when your eyes fell down to the huge bulge in his sweats.

Satoru watched your eyes widen when he pulled his sweats and boxers off in one go. “It’s okay, you can take it. I got you.” He met you back at the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother climbing in the bed with you. He was gonna fuck you off the edge of his bed. “I’ll go easy on you”

You bit your lip and watched him put the condom on and then line his thick tip with your sopping wet hole. As he began to sink into you inch by hefty inch. He made you feel so entirely full and he wasn’t even all the way in yet. You spread your legs wider for him. You wanted every inch of him inside of you.

“Heh-, See I told you you could take it.” His words sounded eerily similar to his ones earlier when you made a basket. He pushed all the way in, buried to the hilt. “Shit. You’re so tight.” 

Satoru almost pulled all the way back out which had you reaching your hands for him. You were feeling emptier by the second with every inch that he pulled away from you. You were feeling needy and you didn’t even care how embarrassing it may have looked.

He slammed his hips back in, all the way in, he left you gasping for air. He started to find his pace and began to fuck you so good. He had his headboard hitting the wall repeatedly with his thrusts.

“You feel so good. Fuck.” He had his hands on your waist—his grip tight—as he continued to plow into your wet cunt. His eyes traced all over your pleasure blown face. Half lidded eyes staring up at him as you tried to maintain eye contact. Your mouth agape in a small ‘o’.

“You’re so big.” The sounds that left your mouth were almost inhumane. You wanted him closer. You needed him closer. You needed him raw. Every time you felt your climax building you just thought of how you’d be coming on a piece of latex and not his pretty dick.

“Can you take it off.” You whined. “Please. I wanna feel you, ‘toru.” 

“W-what?” He grunted in response, you having caught him off guard. “Take what off, baby?” He didn’t stop his thrusts and brought his hands up to your breasts to tweak your nipples.

“T-the condom. Please take it off.” You mewled when the head of his cock came into contact with you cervix. You whined when he stalled at your words. He rolled his hips, his dick pressing deliciously against your cervix.

Who was he to deny you? Fuck, who was he to deny himself. “Fuck. Yes.” Satoru slowly pulled out of you. He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and slowly pulled the condom off, wincing at the tightness. He tossed the condom into a little trashcan before he lined himself back up with your entrance. 

You, getting impatient, wrapped your ankles around his ass and pulled him forward. His cock slid into you with ease. Satoru let out a deep moan when he slipped in bare. You feel so much better to him this way. Nothing dulling the feeling of your wet pussy to him. He was making more noise than he had been all night.

The noises leaving Satoru’s lips made your walls flutter around him. You were so close. You just were missing something. He brought his hand up to your throat and before he wrapped it around your neck he asked, “Is this okay.” You nodded fervently, answering his question.

You were gonna be the end of him, he thought. You were so fucking perfect. The way your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he closed his long fingers around your throat. “That feel good, pretty girl?”

You hummed in response. Your hands reached up and grabbed his arm. You let out a pathetic whimper when he tightened his grip. You felt that knot in your stomach getting ready to snap

“I said you’d forget your name not mine, baby. Say it.” He said as he hiked one of your legs up with his free hand so that he was hitting your g-spot. And he didn’t let up once he found it.

“Oh fuck.. Satoru!” You sobbed out— your words sounded harsh from the pressure on your throat. All you hear were the wet squelching sounds of him fucking into you raw. “Fuck, fuck. Baby, baby… M’gonna come.”

“Yeah?” He let out a low moan. “You want me to pull out?” He felt his balls tighten when your soaked walls clenched around him, pulling him in deeper.

“N-no.” That was definitely the complete opposite of what you wanted. You wanted him to come inside of you and not waste a drop.

“No?”

You shook your head. “Mmm. I want it inside. Please, s’toru, please. I need it.” You fucked him back as best as you could. “Come with me. I want.”

Satoru let go of your throat and leaned forward, hitting that spot even deeper.“Fuck, yeah. I got you, baby.” He continued to roll his hips into yours. You were a moaning and whimpering mess below him. His next three thrusts were hard and rough and just enough to make the both of you come with a loud shout from him and a moan from you.

The two of you were laying there panting with your mouths over the others.

“Fuck.” You finally broke the silence. “That was good.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Happy birthday to me huh?”

“What?! It’s your birthday?”

“Well, whose party did you think that was?”

You roll your eyes, “Happy birthday, Satoru.” He smiled down at you and placed a soft kiss to your lips. You finally came to your senses and realized he was still in you… and he was still very hard.

This was gonna be a long night.

my requests for satoru are open btw! click here

[prodagustd]

last summer | myg

Summary: Maybe it wasn’t the town, or the sun, or the heat. Maybe it was you all along.

✧ this is a drabble of the road not taken, set during summer before chapter one.

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!reader

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: none

—series: the road not taken

—words: 1.3k

—a/note: i wrote and edited this in three hours so forgive me if it's a little rough jfdjfj this was so fun to write, also: the first yoongi pov!!! i wrote this listening to spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine, i felt it was very yoongi coded lmao. anyway remember that drabble requests for trnt are open!! enjoyyy

Four years ago

As Yoongi sat on the edge of Simon’s pool, he had the subtle feeling that he should be doing something else this summer. He knew that graduating didn’t mean the end of his youth—that there would be plenty of opportunities for mini vacations, road trips, travel. But this summer was different. Looking at his pale feet under the water, it felt different.

He had already secured a job at a law firm in town. It felt almost too perfect—it was a good firm, and it was close to home, so he could still be near his mom. And if things went well, in a few months he might even have the chance to bring Simon on board. He wasn’t too worried about the future; he accepted the changes, the passing of time, the transition to full adulthood. But there was a feeling in his chest that told him he should’ve been somewhere else. 

He didn’t have the chance to give it too much thought. He still came back home—and he liked it here. He loved his hometown, and he loved Simon’s house, especially in the summer.

Yoongi had never lived in a big house. He’d always stayed in the same little old apartment, and even though he loved it, he’d always had Simon’s house too. It had been like a second home to him ever since he was a kid.

He knew it by heart: the big living room with the even bigger couch, the giant TV, the kitchen with its island and jars full of cookies and candy, the baby blue curtains, the light wooden stairs that led up to Simon’s blue bedroom, the one with tiny stars on the ceiling that glowed at night. And there was you. You, in your baby peach walls and baby peach sheets, reading your second book of the week, lying in bed with your glasses slipping down your nose.

He used to stop at your door sometimes, just to hear you turn the pages. You would roll onto your elbows, resting your face in your hands, and smile as you asked if he was already tired of your brother. He never answered that question properly. He’d just laugh or shrug, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he thought he did. Maybe that was the mistake.

A bee buzzed near his face and snapped him out of it. The pool water shimmered, the sun burned the tip of his nose and the door behind him creaked open, making him turn around. 

It was a surprise to see you up at ten in the morning, but there you were, catwalking along the edge of the pool towards him, with bare legs and an oversized shirt that was probably Simon’s hanging just long enough to barely cover your thighs. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on your messy hair, on the way your collarbone showed where the shirt slipped off one shoulder, the soft curve of your neck exposed by the collar. He realized that he was watching you longer than he meant to. You caught his glance and smiled, and for a second, everything felt a little softer.

“Hey you,” you said, sitting next to him and dipping your feet in without hesitation. The oversized shirt rode up slightly on your legs as you settled in. “What are you doing up so early?”

Yoongi scoffed, his gaze flickering briefly before he looked away. “Ten in the morning is not early.”

“Tell that to Simon.” You shook your head, hair falling loosely over one shoulder. “I don’t think he’s getting up until five minutes before the guys arrive.”

“I knew he was going to make me do all the grilling alone,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, making you laugh. “What are you doing up early, anyway?”

You sighed, pouting  “I’m just enjoying the pool before I get kicked out.” 

Simon had invited some friends to spend the day by the pool. He and Yoongi were going to make a barbecue, and the plan was to get drunk and sunburned. It wasn’t explicitly said that you weren’t invited, but it was clear it was a boys-only gathering. 

Yoongi chuckled softly, clearly softened by your pout. “You’re not getting kicked out,” he said, but you shot him a look that clearly said stop lying.

“He’s not going to be that forward, I’m sure. But as soon as someone mentions a girl he hooked up with, he’s going to make a face and that would be my cue to leave.” You rolled your eyes. “The worst part is, that I don’t even know why! As if I don’t know my own brother, my God.”

Yoongi huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, glancing at you with a sideways smile. “It’s kind of cute, actually. The way you get all worked up over nothing.”

You bit back a smile, meeting his gaze. “Shut up. You know it’s true.” You murmured.

He nodded toward the grill. “Come on, I need someone to help me with the barbecue. I won’t let you escape.”

You snorted softly, standing up. “You know I’m no scout girl, Yoongi.” 

“Just make me company, then,” he said, a quiet invitation in his voice.

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. I’ll help.” You said. “Under the condition that you won’t let me get kicked out.”

“Fine, I promise.” He said, watching you as you stretched your arms over your head in a lazy arc before tugging the t-shirt over your head and tossing it onto the lounge chair. Beneath it, your beige bikini dotted with little strawberries caught the sunlight—soft, delicate, impossible not to notice.

You started walking towards the other end of the pool, your bare feet tapping softly against the baby blue tiles. The fabric hugged your hips, clinging in places he tried not to look at too long but couldn’t quite ignore. He noticed the curve of your waist, the way your shoulder blades shifted with each step, your collarbones, and how your silver chain rested against your chest, tracing the valley between your breasts. 

Your body moved like you didn’t care who was watching, and maybe that’s what made it worse. 

Or better.

Yoongi watched you quietly, not meaning to, and felt something stir in his chest, not sharp, not urgent, but quiet and deep.

It wasn’t just that you looked beautiful. You always had. It was the way you moved like summer itself, familiar and fleeting. Like this version of you—this moment—would disappear if he blinked.

And maybe that’s what made it ache. 

You paused at the edge of the pool, then glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“But anyway,” you said, your voice light, casual, “doesn’t Simon have a girlfriend now? Or something like that?” A smile tugged at your mouth. “I was hoping you guys won’t be talking about girls like that now.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You just dipped your toes in and slid smoothly into the water, disappearing beneath the surface in one clean motion.

Yoongi swallowed. Hard.

He just sat there, stomach pulling a little tighter than before. The sun was hot, but it wasn’t what made his skin burn.

He cleared his throat and forced a laugh, shaking his head like it was nothing. “Yeah, guess we’ll have to keep it strictly professional then.”

But his eyes stayed fixed on the spot where you’d disappeared beneath the water. His heart wasn’t so sure about professionalism anymore.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the sun—and something heavier, deeper, pulsing quietly in his chest. It felt like it might pull him into the water with you.

[arsenal-womens-1]

In the blink of an eye

People often use the saying "your life can change in the blink of an eye" a lot. Six weeks ago, you understood what the saying meant. One day, you were taking a silly DNA test for fun with your friends. The next thing you know, you find out your whole life is a lie when you get the DNA results back. It turns out the people who said they were your birth parents are not, in fact, your biological parents; they kidnapped you.

For six weeks, you've kept a huge secret. It's eating at you. Leah Williamson is your sister. For six weeks, you've been going to training, playing, eating, and talking with your biological sister, and she has no clue about your secret. How were you supposed to tell someone they're your sister when you were kidnapped at six months old? You can't even look at her. People have started to notice that you can't look at her and that you are avoiding her as much as possible.

You have been staying with Beth and Viv for about five weeks now. You couldn't go back to that house, not after what you found out. Beth and Viv don't know the real reason; they just think that your mum and dad went back to live in Spain. Your head is a mess, questioning who you are, why did they take you. Would your life have been different? Would you have gotten into football? All these "what ifs," you would never get the answers to any of them.

It hurts, knowing that you would never get the answers to why they took you and stuff like that. Hearing a knock at your door, you get up. Standing in front of you was the one person that you didn't want to see. “Hey, you ready to go? Beth and Viv are waiting in the living room.” Nodding your head, you walk past her and into the living room where you see a bunch of footballers walking over to where all the shoes are kept. You pick a random pair.

After you put them on, you walk over to where Beth and Viv are, giving a weak smile to Viv. She looks at you; it's clear you had been crying at some point. “You ok, kid?” Giving her another weak smile, you nod your head. Hearing Kim shout, “We will all meet at the restaurant, everyone drive safe,” as all the footballers pile out of the tiny apartment. You, Viv, Beth, Leah, and Jordan are the last to pile out. Walking to the car, Beth and Leah were whispering to each other about something.

Pulling out your phone, you take a picture of your outfit, posting it on your Insta and Snap stories. You stop at the car, waiting for Viv to open it. When she does, you get in; Jordan was in the middle, and Leah was on the other side. The car ride was quiet for the most part. Getting out of the car, you walk into the restaurant. Beth, Viv, Leah, and Jordan weren't that far behind. Alessia and Ella come over; you know them from England.

You got your first call-up two months before the Euros, and I guess Sarina liked the way you play, as you got the call to join the team for the Euros. It's now November 1st; life has been crazy since you won. Walking to the table, you sit more away from your Arsenal teammates. The night went well; everyone was happy and talking to each other. It's now the next day; you had a game today, so you need to get there at 5 am because it's a 12:30 kick-off.

Getting up, you slip on a hoodie and joggers, trying to shake off the weight of your secret. As you head out the door, you walk to the kitchen where some of the Arsenal girls are; some stayed over last night. Beth passes you a coffee. "Hey," she says, her voice soft and it has a hint of tiredness in it. "Are you okay? You seemed a bit off last night." You force a smile, hoping to deflect her worry. "Yeah, just tired, I guess. Big day ahead."

Giving another forced smile, you walk over to the couch and flop down next to Jen. The news was on the TV; nothing interesting, so you just go on TikTok and watch some fan edits showing Jen. A few here and there were of to the training center; it's cold as it's like -4. As you arrive at the training center, each step you take is heavier than the last, burdened by the weight of your secret. Your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Jen's concerned gaze follows you, her eyes silently pleading for you to confide in her, but you just can't bring yourself to do it. Not yet. Inside the training center, the familiar sights and sounds offer little comfort. Your mind keeps drifting back to Leah. How do you face her knowing what you know? The guilt threatens to consume you whole. As the bus parks up, you catch Leah's eyes. For a moment, it feels like she can see right through you, like she knows the truth.

You quickly look away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. She was just a teammate six weeks ago, and now she is your sister. Well, I guess she always has been, but you didn't know. Getting on the coach, you sit next to Katie, Catlin, Steph; you don't really talk to them. The game was a blur; yous won 2-0. After taking photos with fans, you walk down the tunnel where Leah, Beth, Katie, and Georgia Stanway are.

Leah walks over to you; as you try to walk away, she gently grabs your arm. “Hey, can we talk?” You just shake your head, and you try to pull your hand away. “What have I done to you to make you hate me?” You shake your head. “I don't hate you, Leah.” She still has your hand in her grasp. “You can't look at me; you don't talk to me, and you won't tell anyone what's going on.”

You do the only thing you can think to get her to let go of you. The connection of your hand connects to her face echoes through the tunnel. The girls come over and quickly separate you. Beth comes up to you and pulls you around the corner. “What's going on? Leah just wanted to know if she did something; why did you slap her?” Looking at Beth, the concern for you and a bit of anger for slapping Leah, you couldn't bear it any longer.

You let all the emotions out, letting a sob rip through you. Beth steps forward and gently pulls you into a hug so your head is resting on her shoulder. “She-I'm-” She tries to calm you down. “She's my sister.” Letting another sob rip through your body, you feel Beth tense under you. “What are you talking about?” Wiping your head around, you see Leah standing there.

[squinch-depraved]

schlatt x single mom!reader part 1 (aside from my post about how you met)

(this will be going up on my ao3 once it's ready, i'll probably edit it and format it differently and stuff so don't be surprised if it's a lil different but tumblr gets the first version)

(if anyone has an idea for a title for this series lmk pls eek)

even though daphne’s alarm clock went off at the same time every morning with the same exact song like, well… clockwork, it still infuriated you to no end. having to wake up to “crazy frog” every damn day since you made the mistake of showing it to her almost a year ago now was bad, but what was worse was how for the past few weeks, you would stub your toe or shin or whatever it may be on one of the dozens of packed up boxes strewn about the cramped studio apartment you shared with your daughter on your way to turning off the godforsaken hello kitty alarm clock. if it weren’t so special to the both of you, you would have chucked it out of one of the two tiny windows you had ages ago.

“up, daphydil. we gotta be at the cafe in 20, opening’s in 2 hours. now, c’mon girlie,” you gently coaxed her out of bed. she was small for a five-year-old, golden brown ringlets messily framing her face and hanging in front of her forever wild eyes. a soft smile played at your lips as you stroked her hair. “there’s my beautiful girl. alright, can you be ready in 10 minutes? i bet you can’t. i bet you can’t so much that if you are ready to go in 10 minutes, shoes and everything, i’ll let you ride on my back all the way to the store. does that sound good?” daphne grinned mischievously and nodded.

“can i have a muffin for breakfast at the store?” she asked.

must be a good day, you thought. she’s talking.

“of course, bear. i’ll make the blueberry ones like you like for both of us, how ‘bout that?”

“okay. stop taking up my 10 minutes, please.”

you laughed and rose off her bed. “that’s fair. the clock starts now, daph, gogogo!” you set a timer on your phone and chuckled to yourself again as she raced to her pile of boxes to pick out an outfit. she had the most eccentric taste for a kindergartener. well, she would be in kindergarten. you had yet to find a school that worked for her— sure, she had only tried preschools, but the amount of other kids there combined with the lack of your presence sent her into a shutdown for almost a week each time. so you decided to homeschool her. school didn’t start for another week, so you still had time to get things sorted. but it was going to be extremely challenging, running the cafe, teaching her, getting moved into the new apartment, and all the other stuff you had to attend to.

for a split second as you walked back over to your own pile of clothes, the man from yesterday flashed through your mind. you couldn’t stop yourself from going over his features while you changed into working clothes; something about him made you want to give him a chance. and so, before you knew it, you were responding to his “thanks again” text he had sent once you parted ways.

you: schlatt. if you’re free, meet us at this address for breakfast. would love to talk. if not, we’re there all day. thanks.

with that, you sent him the location of the store and chucked your phone onto the bed, hissing in regret and running a hand through your hair. the embarrassment was short lived, though, as almost immediately your phone dinged with a response.

jesus, eager much?

but being the hypocrite that you are, you dove for the phone, just as excited as he was.

schlatt: hey!! yeah, sure, i can be there in maybe an hour. see you then!

taking deep breaths, you slid your phone into your back pocket and strapped on your work boots, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“i’m ready.”

“fuck!! oh, jesus, daph, i’m sorry,” you panted. “you scared the shit out of me, girl, you walk too quiet. alright, let me grab a few last things and we’ll go.” she nodded, smiling, and stepped out of your way. after you had locked the door behind you both, she raised her arms as if asking to be picked up and made a grabbing motion. with a dramatic sigh and a roll of your eyes, you squatted down and helped daphne climb on top of your back. once she was settled, you began the trek down the street to the cafe.

you wished more than anything you could see the world through daphne’s eyes. to her, pigeons were fascinating creatures that she could spew off facts about for hours. she was so full of knowledge and so willing to share it; it was how she showed her love. to her, a piece of trash on the ground could be turned into an accessory for a hat, or a decoration, or whatever it may be. she was endlessly creative and resourceful (where she got that from, you had no idea). to her, her mother was a hero. and, god, how you envied her ability to see you that way.

“we’re here!” you announced as you turned the key in the lock and stepped into the dark building. flicking on the lights, you leaned down and let daphne hop off your shoulders. “smells like coffee.”

“i hate the smell of coffee,” daphne mumbled.

“me too, bear. now, c’mon, we gotta get going!! we’re opening soon!”

she began her routine of sweeping the dining area first, and then the kitchen, and then the bathrooms while you turned on all the machines and let a few employees in the back entrance to help start everything up. opening always goes quicker than closing, so it wasn’t long before you opened the doors and let the regulars in.

but among them was schlatt. somehow you had forgotten he was coming, and daphne lit up when she saw him walk in.

“funny man!” she yelled, dropping the tongs she was holding and sprinting around to meet his fistbump from her station at the muffin display.

“daph!! now i gotta wash those again,” you grumbled. “hey, schlatt.” you sheepishly finished wiping down the counter and scanned the store for any customers. luckily, it was saturday, so there were only a few people already seated and enjoying their food; you had some time to talk before the next rush came in.

“child labor, y/n?? really?” he joked, eyeing the menu above you.

“it’s not child labor if you went through labor to have the child,” daphne spoke, repeating a phrase you had said in passing once to a friend.

“oh my god!! daphy, please, can you go make sure the mug shelf is all straight?”

she nodded, glancing at schlatt one last time before she left. he was trying to hold in his laughter, but let out a sputtering chuckle once she walked away.

you closed your eyes and took a breath before speaking. “i’m so sorry. i swear i said that once. like, genuinely one time and she says that whenever someone comments on her working. she’s too smart for her own good, i don’t know what to do with her.”

“you know, you do an awful lot of apologizing when there’s nothing really to be sorry for. she’s hilarious, from what i’ve seen. why do you always try to defend her?”

your face went hot and you stammered a few times. “buy me a drink first, damn, dude…” with a huff, you went back to scrubbing the spotless counter.

“i- fuck. i’m sorry. that’s too much. let me start over, please?” he leaned in a bit, resting his elbow on the surface between you. when you gave him a short nod, he sighed a bit with relief and nodded his head towards a blueberry muffin. “can i get one of those?”

you couldn’t help but grin at his choice of pastry as you packaged it. “anything to drink?”

“what’s your coffee order?”

“three cans of diet coke. i don’t drink that shit,” you tried to jest but it sounded bitter.

he blinked a few times and nodded. “good, me neither. i was willing to, though, let that be known.”

with a laugh, you replied, “noted. here, take a seat and i’ll bring you a lemonade? daph’s idea, she thought it would be refreshing to keep in stock for the heathens like us who don’t drink bean juice.”

“sounds good. i’ll be over here,” he called as he walked towards a table hidden away in the corner. you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself as you poured two lemonades, thanking the stars above you remembered to actually make some this morning. usually nobody ordered any until the afternoon.

setting the two glasses on the table as you slid into the seat across from him, you shot one final glance at your assistant manager, who was running the counter while you took a few minutes to talk with schlatt. luckily, she was too busy with a customer asking for a refill to make a face at you and your new potential suitor.

“holy shit, that’s fancy lemonade. is that mint on top?”

“yeah, daph says it ‘enhances the flavor profile,’ or some shit. she likes food network a lot.”

he eyed the green sprig and took a cautious sip, eyebrows raising once he made a decision on the flavor. “she’s really smart, man. i never woulda thought of this. how old is she?”

“five. she has autism; she’s always been crazy genius. i don’t know how to keep up with her, she’s already smarter than me,” you chuckled quietly. “she’s so creative, too. i can’t find a school good enough to teach her things, she has a hard time being away from me and it’s just a whole thing. speak of the devil, actually.” daphne was skipping across the dining area and sat down in the seat next to you. “hey, bear!”

“i’m not a devil, mama.”

“it’s an expression, baby. remember? like, ‘easy as pie?’”

“oh yeah. because we tried to make pie and it went really bad.”

you sighed, smiling, and rested your head in your hands. “yes, bear. ‘speak of the devil’ just means, ‘here comes the person we were just talking about!’”

daphne pulled out a notebook from her apron pouch and took a pen from your shirt pocket to write down her new phrase.

“what’s that?” schlatt asked her. “you’re five and you know how to write??” you opened your mouth to tell him, but daphne beat you to it.

“i like to write things down so i can talk better.”

“i think you talk just fine, personally.”

both of you flicked your eyes up to squint at him, curling your mouths in the same look of confusion and intrigue.

“oh my god, you two look identical making that face, that’s hilarious,” he mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. at the same time, daphne and you side-eyed each other and started laughing.

“mama says i talk just fine too, but nobody else ever did. now two people think i talk good. maybe you could be my dad,” she wondered aloud. you choked on your lemonade and slammed it back onto the table, spilling some onto the old, damaged wood.

“okay, daph. can you go get me some paper towels from the back to clean this up and then go see if anyone needs help putting sprinkles on the donuts?”

“i already looked, the donuts are done. but the syrups need refilling.”

“okay, go do that, bear.”

“mhm.”

she skipped away, oblivious to what she had just started, and returned a moment later with a roll of towels to clean up. it was silent until she left for the second time.

“you’re gonna trust a five-year-old to refill syrup bottles?”

“she’s actually steadier than i am. she came up with, like, a whole system, it’s really cool. and she’s not by herself, we have a highschooler that’s working with us for the summer, she helps her.”

thank god that’s the first thing he brought up.

“mm. listen, i understand how kids are, we don’t have to talk about what she just…”

“yeah. thanks. she’s, um… she just kinda says what’s on her mind; i can’t stop her.”

“i get it. so, uh,” he rotated his now half-empty glass a few times as he went over what to say in his mind. “why does your nametag say ‘owner?’”

with a glance down at your badge, you slunk down in your chair. “this is my parents’ store. they always wanted me to take over, and i kind of didn’t have a choice after mom fell down the stairs over there. they used to live above the cafe, now they’re in a home and i have to run this dump. at least i get to move out of my studio and into this place, though. if i can ever find the time to actually get my stuff from one place to another.” you sounded more and more dejected as you went on, unable to meet his gaze.

“i can help you move,” schlatt offered smoothly. you smiled, but shook your head.

“nah, man, we have a lot of stuff. it’d be too much to ask of you.”

“shut the fuck up, it’s fine. look, how about we make a trade? i’ll help you move if you let me take you out on a date.”

you blinked a few times in confusion as your face heated up. “m-maybe, dude. i dunno. look, we’re in a rush now, i’ve gotta get behind the counter and try to help my employees get this under control. i’ll come back in a bit.” you gestured to the line that was almost out the door and rose from your seat.

“lemme help!”

his words stopped you in your tracks. “what??”

“let me help,” he repeated, “it’s clear you need it, you’ve got three guys besides you and one of them is a toddler.”

he had a point. flustered, you waved for him to follow you. “just put on an apron and wash your hands.”

the rush of patrons took about an hour to deal with; they just kept coming. schlatt handled everything with grace, upselling people on pastries when they only ordered a coffee and making casual conversation with the usual customers that came in to ask about you and your family.

he was so much better at dealing with chaos than you thought he would be. for some reason, you were expecting him to dip out as soon as he could. it was hard to picture him wanting to hang around after learning about you and how complicated you were. but for some unknown reason, he stayed. you watched him with a soft smile on your face as he undid his apron and hung it back up before stepping around to the other side of the counter.

“wasn’t so bad,” he teased, flicking his head towards the lemonade dispensers. “gimme another one of those.” you pushed the hand that was extending a credit card towards you away and turned around to grab a to-go cup.

“you kickin’ me out?” he asked, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“i can’t work right with you here. need to think. so, i guess, just… show up here at 8 tonight wearing something nice and ready to take me somewhere. you’re gonna help me move my stuff this weekend.” unable to look him in the eyes as your face burned, you handed him the drink and quickly crossed your arms when he took it.

“i am, huh?” he was grinning as he took the straw between his teeth.

“yes.” you swept some crumbs away with your foot and glanced at him for a split second.

“alright, y/n. you like steak?”

“i guess. haven’t had it in years, it’s too expensive…” you mumbled.

“perfect. i’ll see you at 8, toots. bye, daphne!” he waved to the girl who was sitting at the table with an elderly woman sketching something in her notebook.

“bye, funny man!” she called back, not looking up from her drawing. the woman across from her looked shocked at her words.

“bye, schlatt!” you waited until he was down the street before jumping up and down a few times and pumping your fists in the air.

“got a date?” the woman watching daphne asked across the nearly empty store.

“uhm. yeah, actually, i do, mrs. reid,” you stuttered.

“need me to watch daphne for you?”

“yeah, that would be super helpful, actually.” you brought her a new cup of tea and traded it for her old one. “on the house.”

“she’s been talking a lot more.”

running one hand through your hair, you sighed and sat down next to daphne. “yeah, we’ve been working on it a lot. something about schlatt makes her open up. anything to say, bear?”

she just stuck her tongue out in concentration and continued drawing pigeons.

“that’s okay, daphy. you don’t ever have to talk if you don’t want to.” with a gentle pet of her head, you stood up and walked back behind the counter to help a customer that had just come in. you were unable to stop yourself from running over the events of the morning in your head, focusing on how schlatt would smile at you and how he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

you just have to be careful, you kept telling yourself. don’t get your hopes up.

it was too late. you couldn’t help it; your hopes were high. he made you feel… normal again. it had been almost six years since you felt that way. now you were just praying it would last, even if for only a night.

[vanfleeter]

Quick little Dad!Jake blurb that I wrote the other day with absolutely no editing or proofreading. Enjoy!

Summary: Jake can't wait until you get back to cuddle the baby so he risks waking her up to satisfy his needs.

It’s currently noon, which means it’s baby feeding time. Jake, making the wrong decision to stay home with Lily and Tommy while you went to the store. He made an even worse decision when he took Lily out of her baby swing in the living room where she was peacefully sleeping. Tommy watches from the coffee table where he colors, just knowing that wasn’t the right move.

“Papa, she was sleeping.”

“Yes, I know.” Jake says. “But I want some cuddles.”

“Mommy said not to wake her though. If you wake her, she’s your responsibilery.”

“Yes I heard what Mommy said.” Jake says as he carefully unbuckles Lily and gently scoops her out of her swing. She grunts a little, scrunching up in his hands. He softly hums a tune and bounces her gently to keep her calm.

You knew he couldn’t last long enough to let you go to the store to pick up a few things for this week’s dinners and then come back home to feed the baby. He was obsessed with cuddling his little girl, rightfully so. He did the same thing with Tommy. No wonder Tommy grew so attached to his father, always wanting to be following him around, hanging off his back or holding tightly to his legs as Jake dragged him along wherever he went. You wouldn't be surprised if Lily turned out the same way. Although from the day she was born, she immediately bonded with him and would want no one except him. Although she made exceptions when it came to being fed, considering you were the only one who could do it and she preferred breastfeeding over a bottle.

Jake cuddles her close to his chest as he hums a different lullaby and bounces on his toes. But it was nearing her feeding time and she was awake before she needed to be or wanted to be. It was a risky move but it was worth it.

“Look at you–so tiny. So pretty.” He coos, her tiny hand wrapping tightly around his thumb.

“Papa, what are you going to do when she needs to eat? Mommy isn’t even home yet.”

“We have milk here too,” Jake says.

“She doesn't like the bottle. She likes drinking from Mommy’s–”

“I know, I know.” Jake says as he continues bouncing Lily. “I have the wrong parts.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Tommy says, making Jake laugh. “I just know she’s always attached to–”

“Okay! I think we should change your diaper before Mommy gets home.” Jake says as he quickly leaves the living room. He’ll do anything else before he gives a five year old a lesson on biology and body autonomy.

He continues humming that little lullaby as he works to change Lily’s diaper as she begins to grow more and more irritated and upset. You were running behind schedule and Jake was beginning to panic. It is her feeding time and he just knows she won't take a bottle.

“Shh, shh.. It’s okay Lilypad..” He says as he pats her bottom, holding her against his chest and rocking side to side. “Mommy’s going to be soon.”

“I told you..” Tommy says from the doorway of the nursery.

“Now is not the time.” Jake says. He hisses when he feels Lily latch onto one of his nipples. “Gah–fuck..” He says as he pries her off, which only makes her more upset. “I’m sorry darling, but these aren't functional in that way.” He desperately spins back around to face the door, now seeking help from a five year old. “Please please please go warm up some of the milk that Mommy has stocked in the freezer. You remember what she showed you?”

“Papa, she won’t drink from a bottle.”

“Just please..” Jake sighs. “Help me out here.”

“Okay..” Tommy huffs as he leaves the nursery to go downstairs while Lily proceeds to scream off Jake’s ear.

“Oh I know.. You’re hungry and Mommy isn’t here and I only made you more angry for having the wrong parts.. But your big brother is getting you your food all warmed up for you so you can have something while you wait for Mommy..”

Minutes later, Tommy comes back upstairs with the fresh bottle and hands to Jake. He watches as Jake tries to give her the bottle, gently rubbing the nipple of the bottle along Lily’s mouth. “Papa..”

“Tommy, she’ll take it. She’s too hungry not to.” Jake says as he goes over to the rocking chair and sits down.

Jake looked frustrated as he sat there, slowly rocking in the chair and doing anything he could to get her to take the bottle. He was so good with everything else one had to do to care for a baby but feeding his own child he just couldn't do. She wasn't anything like Tommy. In fact, she was the complete opposite.

He hears Tommy sigh and he looks up to watch him as he shuffles over to the basket beside the rocking chair and pulls your feeding pillow. “Papa, she likes to lay on this while Mommy feeds her.” He says. Jake lifts the baby up high enough for Tommy to situate the pillow on Jake’s lap.

Feeding Lily after that was beginning to get easier. Her tiny body loosened up and her cries softened to small whimpers. Her teeny hand reached up and clutched onto the metal bracelet wrapped around Jake’s wrist. He fed her the nipple once more and she successfully latched on. Her cries quilted down and she sucked hungrily.

“Oh thank you..” Jake sighs in relief, resting his head against the back of the rocking chair.

“So what did we learn today?” Tommy questions, raising his brows in a mocking fashion as he smiles.

Jake sighs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t wake a sleeping baby.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“That’s she’s your responbilery–responsa–”

“Responsibility.”

“Yes. Big words.”

Jake chuckles and reaches his free hand over to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “She’s always my responsibility–just like you are too. But I’m sorry, I haven't held her all day because she all wanted was Mommy’s–”

“Boobies?”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Yes..”

“Like you do?”

Jake wasn't sure how much bigger his eyes could get as his jaw fell open. “Hush it.”

“I don't get it..”

“And you won’t until you’re forty.”

“Isn't that how old you are?”

Jake’s eyes narrow and Tommy giggles. “I am not forty.”

“Your gray hairs say either wise.” Tommy says. “Grandpa told me that when you start getting gray hairs, that is when you’re getting old.”

"Well your grandpa is wrong. I am not old. Just stressed…because of you.” He jokes, stretching out his leg to wrap around Tommy’s small frame and pull him closer to the chair. “You’re too smart for your age, you know that?”

“I know I am.” He says.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Go finish your coloring. And then when Mommy gets home, I am so discussing some things with you.”

[octobobble]

Hi I hope you don't mind me asking a question about your Break The Narrative AU. When Clickclack edits the narrative, does that or can it reset time? I know you said there's a butterfly effect, but are his edits for things going forward or can he redo the portion where things went "wrong" and start at the start of the scene again or does he change what happened earlier in the scene but remains where he's at timeline wise and sees the new present he created? Also, is there an outcome he was wanting to get when he first edited the script? I absolutely adore this AU to bits!

Hi!!! I’m so happy to hear that you like my au!!! This is the first ask I’ve gotten about it so now I’m jopping with joy :] I love when people ask me questions about my stuff!!!

1. Does editing the narrative reset time?

Yes! And no. Click Clack basically has dev tools that sorta don’t wanna be at his disposal when he’s at that stage, so his ability to edit the script basically gives him the same ability as when you finish the game and are then allowed to jump into any chapter. He’s basically resetting the clock, going back in the script, because he’s continuously trying to “fix” it and keeps failing. It’s somewhat like a time loop, except instead of it trapping them, they’re the one that’s continuously hitting the reverse button. Constantly going back, seeing certain lines be repeated, having so much stuff happen over and over with few variations, seeing the way people act because of his changes to the script, is part of what slowly leads to him seeing the people around him, even his beloved Thespius, as characters rather than people.

2. Was there an outcome he was hoping for when he originally edited the script?

Funnily (or tragically) enough, not really! As in, there wasn’t something huge he meant to change. The story was good, had a nice climax, everything you could ask for really. He only meant to edit a few small things, just a tiny improvement here and there. Break The Narrative is meant to be a sort of slow burn kind of thing. A steady descent into madness. What starts as small but well meaning turns into a need to control a script that disobeys him. He doesn’t really know at what point he went from interest to obsession, at what point he stopped caring about the things and people around him, but it clearly happened, or he wouldn’t be in this situation he created.

[tsukimefuku]

to be loved is to be changed ❖ nanami kento

summary: after an unexpected talk with gojo, you begrudgingly went to work for jujutsu high. meeting new people and encountering a friend from the past has you wondering how much things might have changed (or not).

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader based off of an oc, soft/implied nanami x oc/reader, students being students, gojo being gojo, nostalgia, fluff, some life contemplation.

wc: 2.9K

notes, etc: i wrote this to the sound of nothing in my way (keane), and i'm editing it to the sound of akatsuki no kodou (unchain). this story came into my mind as i remembered that garfield plushie image that got very famous a while ago (to be loved is to be changed). finally, "majo" means witch in japanese.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

"Gojo said he has the situation under control," you repeated to yourself, nervously, as the train approached Tokyo. You could see the sunlight darting in between the city's skyline, casting streaks of light over you and the empty seat by your side, occupied solely by your tiny luggage.  "He has it under control."

You sighed, rubbing your own arm in an unsuccessful attempt of self-comforting, just before the train slowly stopped in its tracks. Clenching your fists in knuckle-white balls, you got up, holding your dark green beaten up travel suitcase and making your way out in between hurried people. 

Every step sent a wave of impact up your legs, and you were especially concerned with the fact that you probably forgot to breathe for a few seconds. 

"He's got it under control."

Right after you exited the Shibuya train station, you darted your eyes through the crowd, trying to find him. Your cellphone, already six years ancient, barely qualified as a communication device anymore. The screen, cracked by time and your own lackluster capacity to keep things unscathed, offered little to no support if you needed to text someone. He has the six eyes, you figured, he'll probably find me before I find him, anyway.

And you were completely right.

"It's been a long time!" You heard the unmistakable voice resonating behind you, a playful cadence that vibrated through the air. Turning around, you saw Gojo waving at you, and you waved back weakly — something uncharacteristic for you, always sardonic and well carried yourself. Thing is, you were just still terrified at what Jujutsu High might be once again plotting, and how it could involve you. "How was your trip? Wow, your hair really is big."

"Anxiously ridden, pretty boy. It's been a minute," you answered, stretching forcefully a half smile on your cheek.

Instead of the characteristic pout he'd have ten years ago when you called him pretty boy, his face was covered by a frivolous smile, to which the blindfold only served to enhance its mystery and intentions.

He had changed, and so had you.

He wasn't that boy that saved you anymore.

Neither were you the person he had saved. Not anymore, at least — thankfully.

"Don't worry, everything is taken care of. I've got the car here to take us back straight to Jujutsu High."

Ah, inside the belly of the beast, it seems. Just perfect.

***

As he presented your room where you'd be until you could find an appropriate apartment or flat for yourself, you wondered where all the people could've gone. You saw some students sparring by the track field, but apart from that, the place was uneasily peaceful. 

"It's kind of… Empty around here, isn't it?" You noted. 

"Oh, we have few sorcerers, which is why having you on board will be nice. You can aid Shoko and get some weight off her shoulders. Maybe she'll even ditch the eye bags!" He chirped, jokingly. You huffed from a smile, taking in slowly what it all meant. 

A decade later, after you sworn never to come to Jujutsu High, here you were, ready to work for them.

What a ploy.

"I'll let you get settled. Then, come outside, I'd like to introduce you to the students!"

"Me? To the students? Why?" You inquired, considerably confused.

"Because you will help me in teaching these kids. Maybe you can teach them RCT, because God knows Shoko couldn't even teach me, and I'm something of a genius. Hurry up!" He playfully chanted, waltzing out of the room before you could muster up an answer.

Changed, but not so much, it seems.

After you had splayed your things on your bed, separating all your cans and glass jars, all containing an assortment of different herbs and dried ingredients, you got up, heavy heart rumbling inside your chest, as you realized you'd be venturing around the lion's den for quite some time before you could find someplace else to live.

You quietly made your way outside, innocuous thumps hitting the hardwood floor below your sock covered feet, right before you reached outside and jammed them inside the already beaten up sneakers — that is, if they could even be called that anymore.

You approached the teens, and none of them paid much attention to you as you came silently towards them. There were five of them, and… A panda? What?

Gojo clapped twice, garnering everyone's attention. There were three boys, and two girls.

"Students, please, welcome your new teacher!"

"Hello! Itadori Yuuji!" The pink haired boy chirped, happily.

"Fushiguro Megumi, it's nice to meet you," the brooding one said, bowing politely.

"Kelp."

Say what now?

"That's Inumaki Toge, he's a cursed speech user. He speaks in rice ball ingredients due to his technique," Gojo clarified.

Oh, I see.

"Finally, a woman teacher that might actually teach us something!" One of the girls said. She seemed spunky with her short red hair. "I'm Kugisaki Nobara."

Finally, you looked at the last girl who sat by the stairs, holding onto a staff that had a blade on its tip. "I'm Maki."

You then looked at the panda, and kept staring at him. Everyone was silent for a moment, as you tried to grasp what exactly was going on. 

"I'm Panda," the panda answered.

You were left dumbfounded, but decided to not inquire further, considering it might be rude.

Who the hell knows.

"It's good to meet you, guys. Hope you can learn a thing or two from me. I've lived many things," you concluded, in a somewhat ominous fashion. Your attempt of a joke fell on deaf ears, and they all seemed a little confused, if not slightly taken aback. Yuuji tried a polite laugh, but Megumi elbowed him.

Gojo chuckled, grinning widely as he put his hands on his waist. "Never mind, students. She's like that. That wasn't even the worst thing she's said out of the blue."

He turned his blindfold covered-face towards you.

"You haven't changed at all," Gojo noted.

Except you had.

"Oh, come! There's more that I want to show you before I leave to take care of some things," he then exclaimed, long strides, instantly making his way out from the students without even waving them goodbye.

You followed suit, and accompanied him hurriedly. You were by no means small, but Gojo was enormous, and had what could be called "legs for days". Each step he took, required two steps from you to keep up.

"Hurry, woman!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" You answered, pacing quickly behind him.

You both walked across the track field, went up two flights of stairs, and stopped in front of a red wooden door that made way inside one of the multiple buildings inside the campus. Seemed huge for such a short-staffed personnel.

Gojo knocked on the door three times, and waited around five seconds before effectively barging in unceremoniously.

"Come!" He yelled at you, and you began to step inside.

"Gojo, I was finishing my report about today's mission with Yaga on the phone. You should learn to wait for someone to effectively let you inside the premises after knocking," you heard a so familiar voice say.

"Nanami?" You asked, walking towards the tall blonde man in front of you. You had seen him in Tokyo around four to five years ago, completely by accident, and forgot to get his number on that opportunity. At that time, he wasn't enrolled with jujutsu affairs anymore, and you remember chastising him for it.

Now, he had a pale beige suit on, wore a blue button shirt with a yellow splatter print tie, and had a particularly unique pair of glasses covering his eyes.

"It's you!"

His eyes widened slightly as he said your name.

You nodded. "Yeah. Myself, plus the long hair. It's nice to see you again."

A genuine smile covered your face.

He tipped his head softly, "it's nice to see you again, too. What has brought you here to Jujutsu High?"

You scoffed, looking at Gojo. He lifted his hands, saying, "well, they were up plotting against her, so I just pulled a few strings that basically required her to come here."

You sighed.

"Yeah. They were up to their classic shit, I guess."

Nanami sighed back.

"I see."

"So, about your work here," Gojo began, "given you have very little experience in effectively fighting in the field to exorcize curses, Nanami is being now appointed to shepherd you until you are acclimated!"

"Say what now?" You asked, at a loss for words. Isn't jujutsu sorcery a solo sport? Why the hell am I going to have a partner?

"And who has made that decision? Gojo, you should've informed me about this beforehand. I can't be caught off guard this way."

"What?! I wanted to make a surprise! You guys haven't seen each other in a decade!" He said in his defense.

"Actually, I ran into Nanami by accident around five years ago here at Tokyo, when he was a salaryman," you replied. "He was too good for that, so I gave him a hard time and told him to go back to being a jujutsu sorcerer."

"Huh?" Gojo asked. "Five years ago?"

"Yes" Nanami acquiesced.

"I bumped into him, we had a chat, I took my train, and well, here I am, I guess," you concluded, smiling.

Gojo chuckled, and put his hands in his pockets, realizing the timing.

"Are you sure you still want to complain about shepherding her?" He asked Nanami, with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Nanami sighed, yet again.

"I have no objections on that matter. I'd just like to have been informed beforehand."

"Oh, come on, Nanami. Gojo tried his best to make a surprise, he just disregarded the fact that you clearly hate surprises."

"Hey!" Gojo complained.

Nanami shook his head at Gojo's antics, but underneath his blank facade, you saw the all too familiar amusement he had all the times you picked fun at Gojo.

We haven't changed. Have we?

***

Weeks had passed, and you couldn't live another second like this. You just couldn't.

The long hair getting glued to the back of your neck, sweaty tangles that took eons to brush out, was simply becoming too much of a hassle.

You sat in the bathroom, on the toilet, shortly after your latest mission with Nanami, and grabbed the first pair of scissors you could find inside your own small bag of toiletry amenities — they were for cutting nails, at most, and fit pathetically small inside your palms.

Grunting, you got up and walked towards the mirror of the collective bathroom, ready to start chopping your hair away, because the mere thought that it would still be there in the following hour reveled your body with anticipated discomfort.

At that moment, both Nobara and Maki, two of the students you had been teaching closely these last few weeks, went inside the bathroom. They stopped in their tracks, looking at you, doubtfully, as you held a black lock of hair extended to the side of your head, flaunting the tiny scissors underneath it.

"Sensei, what are you doing?" Nobara asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm cutting my hair," you answered, ready to start trimming.

Maki and Nobara stared at you for a moment.

You sighed.

"Look, I don't know anything properly around here, leaving the campus is usually a pain in the ass for me because I still don't understand how this assistant shenanigans works, and I just need to cut this hair out before I go completely insane." You sighed. "And this manicure scissors are all I have. So I'm cutting my hair."

Nobara and Maki shared a brief look between them.

"Sensei, with all due respect," Maki began.

You looked at her from the reflex on the mirror.

"You definitely are not cutting your hair like that."

"Huh?" You mumbled.

"Look, I have better scissors with me. Let me get them and we can help you. I'm pretty familiar with it, I take care of my hair myself." Nobara offered, approaching you.

You pondered for a moment. "Okay. I really could use some help."

Around an hour had passed since the girls had run into you in the bathroom. They took you back to your room, properly put a towel around your neck, and Nobara chipped away at your rich thick black locks of hair as she and Maki complained about their peer's latest shenanigans. Apparently, Inumaki and Panda were given to stealing their jackets and skirts to run around the campus. You chuckled at the image of that, up until Nobara reminded you she had a sharp pair of scissors to your hair.

After you were finished, you looked into the tiny mirror you had on your makeshift dorm room, and saw the same face from ten years ago, with the same short black hair.

Was it the same, though?

***

You had been feeling specially sad for the past few days. After finishing another mission with Nanami, you both went back to campus, and you had offered him your classic Oka tea, which you both drank many times together in Odate, ten years prior.

The Oka tea, your specialty, the secret recipe of your family — your pride.

However, when you searched through your herbs, dried ingredients and spices you brought, you realized the dried orange was completely missing.

You knew, as well as anyone in your family, that the Oka tea could never miss any ingredient, especially the dried orange slices.

I'm so sorry, Nanami. I wanted to teach you to make some Oka tea today, but I just can't do it without the dried orange slices. It's just not Oka tea without it. You remembered saying.

You weren't usually that attached to recipesto such a personal degree, but being here, in Jujutsu High, elicited so many memories from your past that you felt homesick, and the only way you knew you could taste home back again would be with a warm cup of Oka tea.

Nanami wasn't annoyed at your upsetting at all, and pointed out that recipes really were meant to be followed in order to obtain the best outcome when cooking.

Right now, you were sitting at the tiny kitchen they had for the use of people that lived inside campus, and you felt heartbroken, missing your tea, as you gazed at all the other ingredients you had left on the counter since then. 

There was a knock on the door, and you told the person to come in. It was Nanami, and he carried a plastic bag with him.

"Hey, Nanami," you greeted, slightly disheartened. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He put the bag over the counter and looked at you.

"I bought us some dried orange slices for you to make your tea."

"... What?" You looked inside the bag, and sure enough, there was a small plastic packaging with some dried orange slices inside it. "Nanami, thank you so much."

"It wasn't troublesome at all, there is a store that sells dried ingredients and similar types of products near where I live."

You smiled at him.

"Well, now I can show you the recipe, then."

He nodded.

"I hadn't anticipated you'd actually be missing any ingredient for this tea, or to not have it already prepared and at your disposal," the sorcerer huffed, amusement and nostalgia glimmering underneath his chiseled passiveness. "I remember you usually tossed into hot water some packets that you, for some reason, always kept on yourself, and it always tasted the same. It was an unexpectedly odd phenomenon," Nanami pointed out, referring to the time you both spent working together at Odate.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a majo."

You poked fun at your own past, when you were shunned, called and treated like a witch by the very people from your hometown.

The faintest hint of a smile covered his face.

After mixing up all the ingredients, including the dried orange slices Nanami had brought you, walking him step by step on how to make Oka tea, you served one cup for each.

The smell was familiar, and you could almost see the snow that engulfed the first two decades of your life falling again all around you.

Then, you took a sip, and you were completely taken aback. Nanami noticed it, and drank the tea too, looking slightly puzzled at his mug.

"It has a different taste" he noted, looking at you. "Was any other ingredient missing?"

You looked at him, then at the mug, then at him again. You were positively sure you followed the exact same recipe you had been making for the past 18 years. It could be the quality of the dried orange slices, but it was unlikely. This was just strange, overall.

Then, you pondered.

"It's not bad, it's just… different."

Indeed, the tea still had no need for added sugars or sweeteners, and had the same everlasting flowery and citrus smell, so characteristic to it. 

"Yes. It tastes very good." Nanami replied, taking another sip, contently. "This would go well with some croissants and jam."

You chuckled.

"Yeah, it would."

"So, what happened? Do you have any ideas?" He inquired.

You shrugged.

"I don't know. It just changed, I guess."

"Hm," he finally hummed, looking at you as you began brushing the nape of your hair with your fingers, smiling at yourself, gazing at the cup of tea.

To be loved is to be changed.

—

End notes:

I wrote this in about a 1-1:30h sitting, and I’m so happy at how it turned out.

If you liked it and could spare some time to leave a comment, I’d be very happy. 💜

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[lycanlovebites]

little one-shot (1.6k words) of Emil and Wolf’s first real meeting and the ensuing conversation! I originally wrote this last February and I finally went back in today to edit it a bit and change some things. (When I wrote this it was before I realized I (and Wolf) was trans so I had to go in and change the pronouns. I uh really realized exactly how often I use them in this story.) anyways please enjoy this little vampire and werewolf tea party scene!

Below the cut since it’s a bit long!

Wolf thought back to the first time they met. He was caught in one of Emil’s traps to prevent trespassing one day while waiting out the rain in his forest, confusing it with his own. 

Emil set him free, and despite his dangerous fangs and claws, healed him. Wolf had ran away after that, but he couldn’t stop thinking back to the kind vampire who healed him (despite him also setting the trap). He returned several times over the next few weeks to watch him. Wolf learned that he enjoyed afternoon tea with friends on Sundays, and he meticulously cared for a delicate variety of plants that only bloomed at night. He learned that he liked garlic toast and sunlight on his face, but had to take safety measures first. 

He had learned a lot, but not enough. 

So one evening, when he sat outside to admire his garden, Wolf waited for him. He knew he would be there because he was a creature of habit. He always admired his garden at exactly 6:30 pm every Thursday.

Wolf was waiting for him, right behind his prized 

Night-Blooming Cereus. (He knew its name because Emil  sang it loudly as he watered it every Wednesday evening.) 

He walked out from his house, still freshly lathered in sunscreen, twirling an unopened frilly parasol over his left shoulder.

Wolf  watched from behind his Cereus. 

He hummed a melody to himself and sat down in an ornate lawn chair next to a table with a spread of evening tea. 

Such an odd creature, Wolf thought. Going through the work of preparing tiny foods and making tea and arranging everything so perfectly.. only to sit and sing at some flowers? Every evening?  Who did that? Emil, apparently. 

He watched him fold a satin napkin over his lap, stir a distressing amount of sugar into some tea, and use tiny golden tongs to place mini cucumber sandwiches on a floral china plate. It was utterly foreign to him. When Wolf was hungry, he dug up a cache and ate. Emil had so many rules that it was a wonder why he even bothered eating in the first place. 

When he raised his cup to take the first sip steam fogged his round glasses. Wolf moved forward, quietly, until he stood before him, six feet away. By the time the steam cleared he was just five feet away. 

He saw his eyes snap up to meet his own. 

He had expected to be met with shock or fear in his eyes, for him to drop his cup. But much to his shock all he saw was mild surprise. 

“I was wondering when you would stop by to pay me a visit,” Emil said calmly. “Although from the looks of it, you already have.” 

Wolf took a step back. How had he known? He thought he’d been careful not to reveal himself. He’d covered tracks and studied his routine. All this time he thought he was observing him, but had it been the other way around?

“I’ve noticed you a few times, but you always stayed within the edge of the forest until now. I saw you just the other morning, you know. You were admiring my garden.” He said gently. He had a kind voice. 

He lowered the teacup to the table. “I’m Emil, owner of the estate, as you must know. Who might you be?” He looked curious. 

Wolf paused, thinking. Werewolves didn’t have names in any human language. “Wolf.” 

“Well, Wolf, it is a pleasure to meet you properly. Sadly, our first encounter was not a very pleasant one. Thank you for the chance to make it up again.” He then pulled out a spare teacup from behind the teapot. “Would you like some tea? It’s rose, from my garden.” 

Tea? Wolf never had tea before. It seemed like a kind of simple potion, or maybe a soup. 

“Yes, thank you.” He nodded. 

“Sugar or cream?”

“No thanks.”

He took the cup from Emil’s outstretched arms, reaching to breach the gap between them. 

The beautiful, delicate cup felt so small, so fragile in his clumsy paws. He raised it to his snout to take a sip. It smelled deep and floral and the flavor bloomed and lingered on his tongue. 

“It is… nice,” he said simply.  There weren’t really other words to describe it to him. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Emil said as he topped off his own cup with more tea. He went to take a sip when his eyes widened like he suddenly remembered something important. “Oh! Where are my manners? Please, have a seat.” Emil exclaimed, gesturing at another seat across the table with the spoon he was using to stir his tea. Wolf got up from the ground and settled into the dainty-framed seat. He felt a bit clumsy surrounded by delicate cups and tiny cutlery. 

“Pardon my forwardness, but I must ask; why have you been watching me all this time? Why visit me after what happened?” Emil asked. 

Wolf was silent for a moment. He thought carefully about his next words. 

“After being trapped, you set me free.” He took a sip of tea. “No Trapper would release a creature like me. Especially in their own forest.” 

Emil smiled. “I’m no trapper. I let you go because I never meant to catch you. It was to prevent trespassing vampires, not wandering creatures. Forgive me for injuring you.” 

“That’s the thing. After you set me free, you healed me. Why?”

“Why? I couldn’t leave you injured, not in good conscience.” Emil nibbled a sandwich. “It was the least I could do. After all, it was my fault you got hurt.” 

The two sat in silence for a moment.

“To answer your other question,” Wolf continued, “after what you did, I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about you, this.. kind stranger all alone in the forest. I’ve never heard of anyone like you before. I mean, I knew there was someone living here in this forest; the birds talk about it all the time. But I had no idea it was.. you.” Wolf gestured at him. “Say, why do you live here? Not many vampires around the forest, from what I’ve seen.” 

Emil looked thoughtfully on how best to explain. 

“I came here after moving out of my parent’s home. I wanted a nice place of my own where I could live undisturbed. Well, relatively undisturbed, anyways. The deer that keep trying to eat my tomatoes keep me busy I suppose, but it’s nothing as bothersome as business meetings and marketing strategies.” he paused and Wolf looked at him curiously. 

“Business meetings?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Emil nodded. “My parents were business owners, selling cosmetics and jewelry and such, and they wanted me to inherit their business after they retired. We had always lived in the city, and we never got a chance to leave because of their job. When they retired, they left to travel the world, leaving me to run the place. I.. was never really a businessperson, not like my mothers. I hated the work. I wasn’t good with people, and it felt crushing to work on something I wasn’t good at or passionate about. So one day I sold the company. I took the profits from it and bought this place.” He paused to refill his teacup. “Now, I am ashamed to admit this, but I didn’t tell my parents about everything until months later, when I had settled into my home. I was afraid they’d cut their vacation short because of me. I didn’t want them to take the company back before I could sell it, which was irrational. The company was legally mine until I sold it, but I don’t know. 

“I left a quarter of the profit from selling the company to my mothers, took a quarter for myself, and the rest went to charities and all the workers who stayed with the company.”

“What did your parents think about it all?” Wolf asked. 

“Oh, they were furious of course.” He smiled. “I’ve only heard them that angry when I broke the family heirloom chandelier. I still don’t think Mamie ever forgave me for that one. Anyways, I told them that I had left the city, but I never said where. As far as I’m aware, they have no idea where I am. And if I’m being honest, I’d rather prefer to keep it that way.” He paused to take a sip of tea, blowing the steam off its surface. Wolf caught a flash of something dark in his expression. “As a child, all I wanted was my own life, made of my own choices. I wanted to be in a place that felt alive and free, away from my parents' influence. They had always chosen what school I went to, what hobbies I had, what I did and who I was friends with. They chose my future, and I never got a say. Inheriting the business was the last thing. It was my ticket out, and so I took it.” Emil stared deeply at his tea for a moment. “I live here because it’s my life now. I built my future, and my parents can keep theirs.” His voice was restrained. Wolf could hear how he held back heavier meanings behind those words. His peaceful features had a twinge of defiance. Wolf knew that look. It was the one he made when other wolves threatened to take his  prey. Emil was defensive.

Then he glanced up at him, seeing his understanding. 

[apologies for the open ending! I never really know how to end scenes like this so sorry for that]

[@justaderivative I don’t remember if I tagged u in this before or not but here’s my gay guys and their tea party! Wolf is a little bit of a freak and essentially lurked around this guys house for a few weeks except Emil has been watching this take place the whole time?? They match each others weird forest creature energy I guess. Also yes Emil has issues w his lesbian entrepreneur moms and basically tells the first person he really connects with about it on like their second ever meeting. He needs therapy I’m sure to work through it all but for now he’s busy fending off his garden from woodland animals and trying to cultivate a lovely friendship-to-queer-romance so that’s a problem for him to deal with later.)

[noisytenant]

what was ur trajectory for getting into hardcore?

Short answer:

Vocaloid -> Tumblr mutuals give me a taste of hardcore -> hardcore touhou arranges and lolicore -> hardcore autism -> 4lung links me a copy of FL studio -> Perpetuates the cycle

Long timeline below the cut:

c. 2009-2011: get into vocaloid because a high schooler TA at art camp plays World Is Mine and a few other classics, and i think it's just the coolest thing ever.

c 2012-2013: still really into vocaloid. it's my special interest. finding myself enjoying electronic stuff but not knowing anything about genres. going on youtube deep dives, listening to anything i can find reuploaded off niconico. i have a bookmark folder from around this time with a good hundred or so songs in it lol

2013-2014: introduced to things like wolfgun, pendulum, and more experimental electronic like osamu sato by tumblr mutuals. some of my mutuals make their own music. they and quite a few others i follow are into lapfox but i never went out of my way to listen. the callout drops and i have no idea what anyone is talking about but i avoid the subject.

i want to get into making music. i had a tiny bit of background when i was in elementary school, but i still struggle to read sheet music, i don't know shit about playing the piano, and i don't know what programs to use. i watch Cakewalk videos in mystified awe, unable to read anything on it. i am very bad at searching for information online.

somehow, i get myself into using UTAU, mostly just converting USTs, doing a little tuning, and trying to edit in Audacity. I start using Famitracker. While I struggle with the interface, I finally for the first time understand music. The process of synthesizing a sound makes sense for me, and I want more.

2014-2015: i'm into 8tracks and i like, like fucking, electroswing and glitch hop and shit. i'm just listening to random dancey electronic. i don't know. i liked the hotline miami soundtrack

2015: old vocaloid producers are retiring and moving on, the slump is starting to hit. i get a new computer, i deleted my old tumblr coinciding with losing most of the people i spent time with on there, i focus more on school. but i'm on twitter and soon i've remade my tumblr.

i start making new friends. i get invited to play nekodancer with one of them, and get introduced to their friend (hi ein). i think he put on like a goreshit song or a touhou arrange or something but it just really cracked my brain open.

i get into touhou, i get into touhou arranges, and this is when i meet gabber and breakcore. i'm also pretty into lolicore but i have a hard time talking about it due to it being called lolicore (oh, how time changes a person)

2016: at this point, hardcore is my special interest. i'm collecting things in youtube playlists, i'm getting really granular about genres. i'm slurping shit off of lolicore.ch

i want to make hardcore but i don't know how. i try doing things in sunvox to no avail. i try playing around in audacity to no avail. but the hardcore spirit is within me

additional events of note:

2016 or 2017: i don't know when or how i ended up finding out about 4lung, probably a twitter mutual. i like her stuff and she puts out a lot of it. the fanbase is friendly.

if you ask, 4lung will send you a pastebin with a link to FL studio, sample packs, and tips on getting started making breakcore. so i get FL studio. i'm still busy at school, but i make some practice tracks for assignments.

2017: i make the first E-R0 MAID.f track.

and then i just kept going. my music-related special interests wax and wane with my ability to focus on them compared to other things going on in my life but they never really fade completely. in early 2023 i started djing so that's brought it back.

so yeah that's roughly my trajectory thanks for listening

[cacodaemonia]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks so much for the tag, @lilolilyr! It seems that I did this in April, so I'm going to copy/paste any of the answers that haven't changed 😂

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 272 works total, but 110 of those are tagged with 'fanart' and have fewer than 100 words, so I have about 162 fics.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 1,357,669

3. What fandoms do you write for? TCW and a tiny bit for the Murderbot Diaries, though I've done a handful of images for other fandoms like Arcane, Dune, Trigun, The Expanse, House of the Dragon, Malevolent...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? A bunch of my works with the most kudos are images, but if we're talking fics, then I think it's just some of my oldest ones...

That’s Not How It Happened (This Is How It Happened) - Fives arc fix-it and my first fic.

Orbital Decay - Codywan that I haven't edited since I posted it, so I can't vouch for the quality.

Modulation - Another one I haven't touched since I posted it, but it's an 'Echo gets rescued much earlier than in canon and he and Fives reunite' fix-it of sorts.

Will You Walk With Me? - Waxer's pov from the start of the war to the (fix-it) end, and it mostly focuses on his and Boil's friendship (Waxer & Boil or Waxer/Boil pre-relationship - take your pick). Even though this certainly isn't the best thing I've written, it's my baby. 🧡

Interference - Umbara fix-it featuring minor canon characters and some necessary OCs in the first chapter, then more major canon characters later.

More stuff below the cut, since this is a long list...

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably You're Just Harder to See Than Most, which ends very sadly on its own, but it's part of a larger fix-it including Modulation above, so Fives and Echo get reunited.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Pfff like basically all of them, idk.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, just on one sketch dump, where someone went through 6 chapters of spicy cloneshippy images and then decided they needed to complain about it being gross and immoral. I had a good laugh.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Absolutely. I'm not really sure how to interpret 'what kind,' but I generally stick to 'porn with feelings' plus some relatively 'tame' kinks.

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! :D

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Hm, I suppose if we're defining that as like, "what ship have you intensely shipped for the longest amount of time," it would be Destiel? I was veeeeeery into that ship for many years (though at this point, Waxer/Boil is inching closer).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Maybe the one I'm working on now?

16. What are your writing strengths? Starting something and working on it until it's finished.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I have a lot of trouble generating ideas on my own.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I think it's fine as long as it's either A. very short and clear from context or B. for some reason, the writer is intending to confuse the reader and obfuscate what was said. I know I've said it before, but I'm not gonna scroll to the bottom of a fic every few paragraphs to find the translations for whole phrases or sentences. If the amount of 'other language' starts making the dialogue difficult to follow, I'm just gonna nope out.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Technically, I wrote one thing for Gundam Wing back in like 2000, but I can't even remember what I did with it or what it was about, exactly. Other than that, TCW.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? flsdlfg that's really difficult... idk man, if it's quality we're talking about rather than sentimentality, I'd say it's a toss-up between these three 😅:

My Heart's Red Muscle - Canon-divergent AU where Waxer is a cyborg.

Kinktober 2022 - Character studies/development through smut, where Waxer and Boil find a list of sexy things to try out, so it's kind of meta. It's from my main Open Skies AU, and I'm weirdly proud of this one XD;

We Could Breathe Underwater - Force-sensitive Waxer and Boil AU

Thanks again for the tag, and I'm going to no-pressure tag anyone who sees this and wants to have a go. :)

Template:

20 Questions for Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

[dbtucson-blog]

It has been hot. Not June hot when it’s like a very dry oven, but monsoon hot. Small humidity when you’re from other parts of the country but stifling combined with the heat. 

The heat is what pumps the monsoon moisture our way and for the bulk of the entire summer we have had much higher than normal monsoonal moisture to deal with. Typically it will rain for a few days to a week or two, then dry out for a few days and back into it. This year it has been relentlessly sticky. And when the humidity is high our temperatures don’t drop at night like they do when it’s dry. For weeks we were lucky if the nighttime low fell below 80.

At 71 years old, Tumamoc Time is an important part of my life. It gets me back in shape when I fall ill or suffer a physical injury. In shape or not it inspires me day or night with a front row “seat” to the beauty of the desert and the changes of the land, plants, animals and sky over the course of the day, and the year.

People ask, “When do you go up Tumamoc.” I say, “When it’s closest to 70 degrees.” Lately the closest has been still above 80 and sweaty so my trips to the hill have been fewer. But when I get back I can feel the change almost immediately, even if it takes me a month or more to make it to the top again. And I AM back on the hill, albeit in the dead of night.

Yesterday felt like June for the first time since May. And the continually damp weather has stalled a desert mission I’ve been trying to get done, well, since June I guess. 

I’ve been working on a ten-year project with performance artist Laura Milkins called The Forty Seasons. Each season we do an environmental portrait somewhere in southern Arizona. Logistically it’s stressful but it’s always so much fun when it’s happening. We might have an idea going into it that goes straight out the window once we get to the location. Laura is a superb improvisor who finds grand and intimate things to do in a landscape. Occasionally I manage to keep up. My work mainly comes later.

In the spring we ended up improvising both the location and the rest, and as typically takes place, a half dozen or so distinct improvisational segments  took place that were worth editing. Without spoiling it, one involved a particular saguaro that just happened to be where we decided to start shooting. And what happened was spontaneous and beautiful. Just shot at the wrong time of day. Still, it gave me an idea for our next shoot. And so I went back to see if I could find one saguaro in a forest of them.

Cut to the chase, I did not.

Yet.

In the northern part of the Ironwood National Forest is a striking mountain range that almost looks like the back of a Stegosaurus. I used to see this armor plated, jagged hunk of rock from Avra Valley in the 1970s when I was a geology student at UA doing field work for a geomorphology and remote sensing class. About seven years ago I figured out how to get there. And on average I’ve been back about once a week wherever possible ever since. There’s a lot to take it and it looks so different from various locations on the stretch of dirt road that runs alongside. A tiny bit of elevation shows you what a forest of saguaros this is. But there’s so much more.

In the past couple of years I’ve started to notice the ripple of ridges that parallels its length, each rise growing higher and higher as you approach the mountain from the road. The crests are  only 100 feet or so high, but that’s 100 feet higher than the one before. So you’re climbing constantly, trying to avoid cholla and prairie dog holes and rattlesnakes and the critters that are watching you that you likely will have no awareness of unless the wind shifts and you catch their scent. 

Naturally this was the backdrop to my needle in the haystack quest. And it was around 100 degrees when I headed there in the late afternoon, also seeking to know when the shadow of the mountain would overtake that saguaro. So I was working against the clock, and all common sense.

Going into today’s attempt I knew where I had parked and had a GPS anchor to take me there. I knew that we had started walking straight in from the road toward the mountain. Things were fairly familiar at the start because I’ve worked from this parking spot before. But the further out you get, the more uncertainty there is about how far off to the north or south you might have traveled. That was the challenge.

And then there was the actual experience.

I love the last couple of hours of the day in the desert, particularly toward the end of summer. It’s less intense than at the solstice but still beautiful in the way it touches the highest parts of the landscape at different times and changes your whole perception of where you are. 

As it turns out, that section of the desert floor wasn’t shaded by the mountain this time of year at all. Good to know for a future dusk shoot. Yes, I could look this up in the Photographer’s Ephemeris but there’s no substitute for using your own eyeballs to watch the transition into dusk and darkness.

My job was to find the saguaro and see how things looked when shadows started to engulf that section of landscape. But I was carrying an actual camera and a phone with a good camera, and I did need to stop to wheeze now and then. The shots I took are not the best. More of a quick snapshot thing rather than a seriously composed shot. But weak as they are they carry a little bit of the beauty of the rapidly changing light in the desert in early September, in a year when the desert has been made “lush” with above average rain.

Looking forward to expanding my search. Patience and endurance are the secret superpowers of the elderly. 

[prettyflyshyguy]

He's a monster, and he's hungry.

Wrote this over a few days because I'm. Not ok about this. It's on AO3, and under the cut cause it's a short one. Not super edited, just got desperate for more content exploring when Dean was a vampire and when I found none I was like "well alright. Guess I'll make it then."

“I can’t believe it.”

Dean paced the length of the hotel room, passing back and forth by the table where his brother sat, prowling like an animal in captivity.

“You just stood there and watched that freak turn me!”

He stared at Sam, hoping for a change in his reaction, a look of sympathy, an admission of guilt, some form of recognition that something fucked up happened in the alley. Sam’s face was blank, his heartbeat steady, and frankly he just didn’t seem to care. In fact, he hadn’t seemed to care about much recently. He was a cold, lifeless, empty husk and Dean was tired of it. His usual quips brought no frustrated response, no snappy replies, he was simply brushed off. There was no banter, no anger, simply complete and utter apathy no matter what he said. Sam had his moments, everyone did. Dean knew he had a tendency to push his luck, many people had told him this. But Sam was different, they were siblings. Sam putting up with him being an ass was just how things were, and would always be. At least it's how it should be. After everything they’d seen and done together… If Sam held any resentment, he’d have made it clear by this stage. He was a good liar, but Dean could always tell. They both knew each other too well. If he had any doubt something was off about Sam, it was quickly disintegrating as he stalked the room, watching him blankly staring up at him from the small table. Not even fidgeting in the slightest. 

They’d been pushed to their limits before, and Sam was always the first to speak up when something was wrong. 

“Dean.”

His lip curled at the sound of his name. It was so hollow. So static. It reminded him of school, when his teacher would check the roll call. It was an obligation and a requirement, not something done out of genuine care. 

He decided to push a little harder.

“I mean what the hell was that all about Sam? Revenge? To get me back?” he growled. 

“You know you’ve talked so much shit about me taking risks, is this all just some master plan to show me the error of my ways? A jab back at how you still, somehow deep down, think I’m Dad’s perfect son?”

He stood still, observing for a change in reaction. Dean desperately wanted to find a tiny shift in body language, a subtle twitch in his eyes or mouth, that sad glint in his eyes.

He breathed out slowly as Sam once again stared back with soulless eyes and a steady heart.

Not enough, Ok, he thought. He was an expert at this. Maybe Sam had steeled up after all these years. 

It wasn’t a completely unreasonable possibility. 

“I almost hurt Lisa and Ben, Sam! I came so close, I could have killed them and no one would have been there to stop me, but you were!”

He took a step towards Sam as he spoke, the venom of the accusation lingering in the air.

Sam breathed out and shuffled in his seat. Finally, a response. 

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

You calm down.

He took another step closer, noting the slight increase in pace of Sam’s heart. Progress, hell yeah. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips though Dean’s eyes were as cold as Sam’s.

“Oh, that's rich coming from you! That’s easy for you to say when you’re not being assaulted by noise like you went to the movies and an intern did the mixing.”

He took another step closer. 

The thrumming beat increased in speed once more. 

“Dean.”

“S’matter of fact,” Dean slid his fingers across the tabletop, tracing the grooves in the rough wooden surface, “you’re exceptionally calm given I’m now stuck doing a bad David Boreanaz impression for an indefinite period of time, with no guarantee this Campbell special will even work.”

He looked up from where his hand slid along the table to match Sam’s unwavering gaze. His brother tilted his head to look up at him as Dean hovered above, adjusting in his seat. Sam slipped his left arm over the backrest of the chair. 

Dean’s expression turned cold once more.

“And I’ve been thinking, Sammy. It’s ironic. Between that creep, you just standing there and watching, and…” jabbing his thumb back towards himself he gestured “... me…” 

Dean slammed his hand back down on the table, leaning in closer. The headlights of a car flickered through the slim gap in the middle of the window curtains drawn behind them. It reflected off of Dean’s eyes for a split second, making Sam flinch. It reminded him of the animals on the side of the highway, peering at them through the bushes before darting away when they drove late at night.

“Begs the question,” Dean continued. “Which one of us is the real monster?”

Sam swallowed. The first real visible sign of him showing some nerves. He’d finally cracked him.

“Since you can hear my heartbeat,” Sam spoke slowly, “what does it say about me now?” 

His tone was outwardly calm, but Dean could hear through him. 

“It says you’re shit scared, Sammy.”

Sam waited for a few seconds before opening his mouth to respond. Whatever he said, Dean didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze began to shift from Sam’s face down to where the light of the window caught the curve of his exposed bare neck. A pang of hunger swelled in the pit of his chest as the noise and light and intensity of the room faded away until all that was left was the steady sound of the beating, beating, beating. 

A sharp, intense pain stung the side of Dean’s neck breaking him free of the trance as he collapsed to the ground groaning and twitching in pain. Through fading vision he looked up to see Sam still sitting on the chair, slouching back, but holding a syringe in his left hand. The contents empty. 

“You… sonof-abich…” his words formed a slurry as his body went limp.

-

“Nice of you to join us Samuel.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sam’s showing me what all those years of boy scout training taught him to do.”

Dean sat on a chair, his legs, arms and chest bound with thick twine rope. Smiling at Samuel for a moment, he motioned with what little mobility he had in his hands to indicate. Samuel glanced at his brother with a questioning look.

“You did this?”

“He shot me full of dead man’s blood, and I gotta say, that’s one hell of a drug.” 

Dean’s tone was dry and unimpressed. Samuel assessed the room, looking as though he wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it. 

“Anyway you said you were getting something to help?” Dean’s voice broke the silence.

“This is help.”

Samuel pulled a glass jar out of a brown paper bag, setting it on the table. The contents was dark and viscous. It had sloshed around in transit, coating the airgap at the top of the jar. The light pierced through the clear glass and bright red light danced across the varnished wood tabletop.

“Wh- what is that?” 

“Cows blood.” Samuel said curtly.

“That’s help?”

“It’ll keep you alive.”

As he twisted the lid open Dean’s eyes flicked between the jar and the two men.

“Well can you at least untie me first?” he pleaded, his voice straining. 

The rope dug into his wrists and the thought of being spoon fed cows blood was sending his mind to a dark and violent place.

“Dean, it's just a precaution.” Samuel attempted to be reassuring. 

Dean clenched his jaw. Precaution for what. You weren’t even here to see Sam attack me.

“Oh cut the bullcrap!” Dean spat, pulling against the rope binding his arms and legs. “C three P O over here was a bit too cautious back in the alley and look where it got us!”

Samuel stared at him tensely. Dean winced as a spike of sound ringed in his head from a car horn outside. 

“Look I’m fine, Samuel. Really. Just untie me.”

The older man hesitated.

“Please?” Dean cracked a smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

Usually.

Samuel watched him carefully while he placed the jar lid on the table. The unmistakable smell of iron, meat and death began to waft through the room. He leaned into the scent as he realised just how hungry he was. How dry his throat was. How much the deep, dark red called out to him.

“Samuel I will kill you if you try and hand feed that shit to me.”

The older man raised an eyebrow in response, unimpressed, and picked up the jar.

“Wait!” 

Dean grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth as Sam called out from the other side of the table.

“One drop of human blood is enough, are we sure that cow’s blood is clean?”

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me Sammy…” Dean groaned.

Samuel paused, running it through his mind, blinking a few times, he contemplated the risk and the chance. Looking back, Sam shrugged silently.

“Sam has a point. If any human blood, from a cut or a scratch, got into this at the abattoir, you’re done.”

Dean ignored him and glared at Sam.

“God I can’t listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam blurted in frustration. 

“Your fucking heartbeat man! It's so loud, it's so monotonous it’s killing me! Look, Samuel, just cut this fuckin rope and hand me the fuckin jar.”

Reluctantly, and cautiously, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster on his belt. Staying as far from Dean as possible, he nicked part of the rope on Dean’s right arm just enough for him to wiggle it loose. Waving it in the air and stretching the fingers, Dean looked back to the two who were eyeing him off.

“See that wasn’t so bad now was it.” Dean’s tone was sarcastic and he tapped the armrest with his index finger.

“C’mon guys don’t look so nervous.  You can just drug me up again, it’s not like that's off the cards is it Sammy.”

Sam glanced away at the mention of his name, Samuel grunted in frustration as he reached for the jar and took a step towards the chair. In an instant the background thrum of his heart filled Dean’s mind, it was faster, full of nerves and fear compared to Sam’s horribly persistent flat tone. As he approached holding the jar out, Dean felt something shift under his lip.

“NO.”

His voice boomed as he jerked back in his seat, the legs scraping against the floor. Breathing sharply, he tilted his head down avoiding the stares of his associates. 

“Get away from me.”

Grunting and breathing through gritted, sharpened teeth, he glanced up. 

“Sammy, drop the machete.”

They’d both instinctively reached for their weapons. Brandishing them high, already poised for a clean decapitating swing. Dean growled and heaved deep breaths of air, flexing the remaining restraints. He could break free, if he wanted to. With one arm loose, he could easily rip the remaining rope off. He contemplated the thought, reveling in how powerful it made him feel. 

“Dean?”

Samuel’s voice snapped him back to reality. He’d placed his machete back on the table, Sam had lowered his but still gripped it. 

Dean extended his free arm out and flicked his hand towards the table.

“Just hand me the fuckin jar already.”

Samuel was quick to oblige, and quicker to back away once Dean had it in his grip. He tried to not dwell on the way his companions looked at his mouth instead of his face. He could feel the second set of teeth against his lips, his tongue. The smell of blood was suffocating him now, a mixture of alluring coppery tones and the stench of raw stale flesh. He wasn’t sure which was making him feel more ill. The pungent aroma or the fact he liked something in it.

“So you two just gonna watch like this is some sort of peep show or what?”

Neither responded, still fixated on his every move. Pulling a face, Dean limply held the jar up as it to toast before bringing it to his lips. Taking a tentative sip, he recoiled as blood spilt down his chin. Groaning and sputtering he violently spat it out.

“Augh, god this tastes disgusting–”

“I promised you help, I didn’t promise it’d taste nice. Now drink it.”

[greatqueenanna]

So, with this tiny drama with Hans and sociopathy, I decided to ask a friend of mine, who has ASPD, what he thought of this whole situation with Hans. A bit of history - as you all know, I like Helsa, so back in 2014 when it was revealed that Hans was a sociopath, I went into research mode to try and discover more about this. That is where discovered Sociopath World, a website made for sociopaths to discuss how they navigate the world and to give advice to 'empaths'.

This is where I met my friend - we'll call him BG. BG is a clinical psychologist, film buff, and, as said, diagnosed with ASPD. Now, I didn't directly ask him about Hans at the time, I just asked him about the Hans - Elsa dynamic a lot without using their names (cuz, you know - I'm a shipper lol) we've been friends ever since, and I ask him all the time about film characters.

When I started talking about Hans and sociopathy more recently, I got an anon where someone questioned if I should be talking about this, so I decided to finally ask BG about Hans. I shared with him Jennifer Lee's comments, some posts within the Hans/Helsa tags, and of course recommended he watch the movie. To my surprise, he did it fairly quickly and sent me a reply today.

Few things to keep in mind - BG is very blunt, so sorry if you find some things he says a bit offensive or accusatory. Also, keep in mind (something he mentions as well) that he doesn't speak for everyone who has ASPD. Also, don't worry, he knows I'm posting his response here. I did edit a few things for privacy purposes. He knows this too.

Now, I originally wanted to include his response in my Hans and Sociopathy post, but to make sure that the post didn't end up being too long, I decided to place it here instead. His response is under the read more.

Thanks for contacting me, I always like evaluating people’s fascinations with ASPD. This is a unique one, a cartoon character. I’m usually asked to evaluate Elsa (spoiler, she’s not a sociopath) from this movie, so it’s a nice change of pace. Prince Hans is a sociopath. Let’s get into it.

So what we first have to establish about anyone trying to defend those with ASPD are their motivations. No one defends those with ASPD just for kindness's sake, not unless they have a positive experience with someone in their life (which is exceedingly rare with ASPD). Here, we’re talking about a cartoon character that was first established as a ‘good’ and then turns ‘evil’ for a shocking twist.

From what I’ve seen from this character’s fans, is that they focus heavily on the ‘tragic’ backstory of said character and the end-game motivations they have for him. Which in this case is the fact that they want to pair him up with other characters with their morality not being questioned. From what I’ve seen, that’s all they care about. They see an attractive character that they think has the potential to be paired with another, and they are upset that this attractive character has traits and behaviors that they are opposed to. Look, I know it sounds mean, but none of these fans would really care if the character was not attractive, charming, and easily paired with the female leads. That is the main motivation here.

I’m not saying they are not interested based on the character’s own merits and intrigue, they like to speculate about his past and childhood. But given the most popular depiction is him is with the female leads in a romantic sense, it is very obvious where the fans stand and why they are defensive of him. He’s attractive, he’s charming, he was really nice and chivalrous at first. But the reality here is that they are in love with who he is pretending to be. It honestly looks like the cases I deal with every day with real ASPD and Empath couples. The empath in the relationship is always making excuses for the sociopath, and I have indeed had cases where the empath denies the diagnosis. It’s really interesting to see this in behavior in fan spaces as well.  

Now, here’s the thing. I don’t really care about film representation. Most people I know who also have ASPD don’t care either. We don’t really care about the things that empaths place on a pedestal. We don’t care about role models or feeling accepted and represented. Empaths always make us out to be villains or funny anti-heroes because they can’t fathom our behaviors being used for good. It's a reality we face, especially in this day and age when feelings and being empathetic dominate the social world. There is no easy way to showcase a sociopath being a hero within empath standards. Our definition of a sociopath being a hero is getting what they want. Hans would be a great representation if he got what he wanted. Do I speak for everyone? No. But honestly, I question anyone who claims to be a sociopath and actually cares about empath’s feelings towards us, or bases their value on fictional characters like what empaths do. Especially since most people who have ASPD are not even diagnosed, they can’t exactly question a representation of something they don’t know that they have.

Let’s change gears towards the comments the director made. The critique you got was that there isn’t enough evidence to support a diagnosis of ASPD with Hans because the narrative doesn’t explicitly state it and we don’t know a lot about his past; so can’t make a genuine diagnosis. In most cases, that would be correct. However, the director makes it very clear that her intentions for the character was for him to be a sociopath. She wrote him with this intention and made sure to depict him in that way. Thus, we don’t need to see his childhood or even make a diagnosis based on his behavior. He is written and labeled as a sociopath, so he is one. End of story. Sure, we can critique how the depiction was handled, and even the motivations behind making him a sociopath, but it doesn’t change the facts of the character.

I went a little off track here, but I feel this needed to be said first and foremost. Let’s get back to the actual comments. She states that she has a sociopathic mind and that she was writing him based on these traits. She also stated later that Hans being sociopathic was more interesting. You can even see the excitement she has when the person she’s talking to says “he’s a talented Scoiopath” and she says “He’s very talented!” She loves this aspect of him. It's her pride and joy. She obviously thinks sociopaths are interesting and cool, to the point where she thinks she may have some traits. Here, we know her intention behind it was romanticization. Is it a bit weird? Yea. It’s weird. She's romanticizing a disorder so it's always weird. However, the depiction was still fairly accurate. Cartoony and villainized, but accurate.

Which I guess leads us to the actual depiction. He’s a very typical Sociopath. Not much else to say. He has the sociopath stare, he mirrors behavior, he hates that his brothers dared to ignore him, he jumps into danger without a second thought, and smiles when he’s about to commit murder on Elsa. It's kind of funny how accurate he is. It’s like watching a comedy show where they say something relatable and you can’t help but laugh. The director says that her stand-out moment for him was when he questions Anna’s comment of being ‘just her’. For me, it’s when he stands up after being knocked out by the blast, without even acknowledging that he’s in deep shit, and just says ‘but, she froze your heart!” I laughed so hard. Only sociopaths would do this shit. “Anna, how dare you. You should be dead.”

And that’s all I have to say. Thanks for reaching out, it was definitely entertaining and a nice break. Have a great day.

[bambi-kinos]

About Get Back/Let It Be.

Because I'm been wondering about the changed clipped and cuts from from the original. Both Estates and Paul and Ringo approved it. Do you think Paul and the rest are aware of it? And if they are, why is that? they should know by now that the fandom knows about the original clips. I don't mind the changed parts or that it made it look lighter because the way he said it, that it feels like it saved his life and that it showed his talent but he must be aware more than anyone that some parts of the fandom are saying that he is trying to re-write the history. Or maybe he really did see it they way it shown as more accurate. I mean he was there. What are you thoughts on this. I don't bring Ringo in this because I don't think he knows much + he seem to have left it behind him.

They're definitely aware of the cuts because Peter Jackson had to get approval from all four sides in order to get the documentary on D+. Apple Records is still the owner of the footage, the only thing Disney is doing afaik is licensing the footage and other Beatle products. This is to sell subscriptions to their failure of a streaming service. So I would imagine that 1) Paul and Ringo have watched all the remastered footage in full; Peter said he remastered all of it and 2) they got final say on what went into it, as well as Dhani/Olivia, and Sean Lennon as the executor of John's estate. (Yoko is no longer in the picture, the industry rumors online are saying that she is currently dying of dementia and that Sean has been fully in charge of the estate for a few years now.)

It's also important to think broadly about who the documentary is for. The number of people who are intimate with the Beatles, know the full story about their woes, the people who don't fall for Yoko's bullshit, and the people who have actually listened to the Nagra tapes, is a tiny tiny tiny TINY slice of Beatles fandom. I would even posit that this portion of the audience is only 5,000-10,000, maybe 15,000 people at best. That is a tiny slice of a global audience that numbers in the millions.

Paul and Ringo are completely safe and they know it. They know that their audience is made up of passive normies that believe everything they see without question. If you show a normie Beatle fan a picture of John and Paul gayzing at each other and tell them "these men are heterosexual" they will immediately go "of course they're heterosexual!" And they will not question it further. If you have them listen to a piece of the Nagra tapes, the normie would declare it "boring." These are the types of people who make up 95% of the Beatles global audience. Everyone on the estate side knows this very well which means they have carte blanche to do whatever they want, edit however they want, say whatever they want, and there will be zero (0) appetite to question them.

Just look at the wealth of interviews where Paul says insane shit and the journalist never ever questions him on it! It never occurs to them to question it or investigate further. This is not because they are dumb, it is simply because these people are normies. They passively accept everything they are told and there is no desire whatsoever to act any other way. They would be confused and distressed by anyone who wants to dig deeper.

Why Paul and Ringo and the estates called for certain cuts and edits is unknown and unknowable. We have no idea what they mandated, what they had Peter cut, or why. We also have no idea what Disney made Peter cut to put it on D+. Don't forget that the Beatles are not the only forces at work here. We don't know and will likely never know.

Re: your last sentence, I don't think Ringo has moved on at all. He loves the Beatles and is protective of them as a property. IMO it is more accurate to say that Ringo has grieved for the Beatles and that he let go of his survivor's guilt about the Beatles and John's murder as a part of his recovery from substance abuse. As part of that he finally integrated Beatle Ringo into Richard Starkey and now he can be fully comfortable in his skin as both. But he still loves the Beatles and still cherishes them deeply, he just doesn't get involved in the negative aspects because he's done his time with them. The cruelty, meanness and greed is what he's moved on from.