#you are not the witch you will never be the witch i had a witch but now I don’t

[seongwars]

forget me not | iv

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.5K (my bad) Warnings: infidelity, use of the k word

Fic Masterlist

a/n: my stitches reopened and I had to go back and get restitched 😬 so I spent all day in bed editing this chapter. i love reading everyone's theories and feedback is always welcome!

The first time Haewon saw Yunho, it was at your dorm during a study session. You were both surrounded by books, notes, and various pieces of stationary scattered across the floor. While you were focusing on writing out your note cards, Haewon was dancing around the room in an attempt to “activate her brain cells”. 

She had been caught up in her own world until the sound of a knock interrupted her antics. You stood up to answer the door, and a low voice followed, mingled with a chuckle—deep, familiar, and warm.

Yunho.

He was your best friend, someone she’d heard about but hadn’t paid much attention to. But that day, something was different. He sat with a pile of books and a look of quiet concentration that intrigued her. His presence was magnetic, though subtle, and without realizing it, Haewon found herself sneaking glances at him, captivated by the calm determination in his demeanor.

She wasn’t sure when it happened exactly, but at some point, between stolen glances and shared laughter over late-night group study sessions, she started to fall for him. Yunho was kind, always the first to offer a helping hand, and his dedication to his friends and family was unwavering. He had a way of making everyone feel valued and heard.

And when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she was over the moon. 

"Did you know Yunho was going to ask me out?" she beamed, her voice laced with an excitement that made your heart sink.

You froze for a second, your pencil hovering above the page. There was a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe even hurt—but you quickly swallowed it down. 

"Maybe," you muttered, your voice light, almost teasing, though it took everything in you to keep it that way. Haewon didn’t see the way your grip tightened on the pencil, or how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I can’t believe it," she gushed, oblivious to the turmoil behind your composed expression. "I mean, I’ve liked him for a while now, and I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, but when he asked me…God, it was perfect."

"That’s great, Haewon" you said, your voice quieter than before, trying desperately to sound convincing. 

You fell in love with the way Yunho truly saw you, even when you tried to hide parts of yourself. He understood you in ways no one else ever had, knowing your fears, your dreams, and all the things that made you tick. Somewhere along the line, you stopped worrying about what he would think of you because with Yunho, you never had to pretend.

That’s when you knew you loved him—because the idea of life without him didn’t feel like life at all.

But how could you tell him? You weren’t like Haewon—bold and unafraid, able to voice her feelings as if vulnerability wasn’t terrifying. She was all confidence and ease, speaking her mind without a second thought, while you were cautious, overthinking, content to blend into the background.

Telling Yunho how you felt would mean stepping into the unknown. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him if things went wrong. So you stayed silent, burying your feelings deep, hoping that somehow, you could protect what you had by keeping your secret. 

But things went wrong anyway.

You tried not to not let their relationship affect you, told yourself you were happy for them. Haewon and Yunho were two of the most important people in your life, and they deserved happiness. You repeated that to yourself like a mantra, hoping that if you said it enough, you might actually believe it. 

It hurt seeing them together, knowing that while you were happy for them, you couldn’t help the ache in your chest every time Yunho laughed a little too easily at something she said, or when she rested her head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The worst part was that you couldn’t even be angry. How could you? Haewon hadn’t done anything wrong; she hadn’t stolen Yunho from you, and Yunho hadn’t abandoned you. It was like watching sand slip through your fingers—nothing to hold on to, nothing you could do to stop it.

Yunho was happy, and you cared about him enough to want that for him, even if it wasn’t with you.

After you disappeared, everything fell apart in ways neither of them expected. Yunho and Haewon participated in search parties, posted on social media about your disappearance, and cooperated with law enforcement. But there were no answers, no trace of where you’d gone or why. The emptiness you left behind was palpable, a gaping hole in both their lives.

At first, Haewon believed they were grieving together. She felt the weight of your absence in every corner of her life, and Yunho, in his quiet way, did too. But then, she began to notice the way their relationship shifted. 

It was subtle at first: a slight distance in Yunho’s eyes, the way he seemed preoccupied even when they were alone. He would zone out in the middle of conversations, and even when he held Haewon in his arms, his heart wasn’t fully there. 

Slowly, painfully, she realized the truth. Yunho wasn’t just mourning you—he was waiting for you. He was still tethered to you, pulled by an invisible force that Haewon couldn’t compete with.

She never considered herself a mean girl. Sure, she had grown up in a comfortable world, surrounded by friends who were a little more tightly wounded and concerned with appearances. But now, standing on the other side of it, Haewon could see the truth for what it was. Yunho was never really hers to begin with. She hadn’t stolen him—not intentionally—but she had taken something that was never really hers to claim. 

Then there was Sungjae. 

Sungjae had never been a close friend, not really. He was more of a background figure—someone on the outskirts of Haewon’s social circle who, little by little, had weaseled his way in. He was everything Yunho wasn’t: impulsive, flirtatious, unpredictable. And it was those very qualities that ignited something in her.

The affair began quietly, like a secret Haewon wasn’t ready to admit even to herself. It started innocently enough—casual conversations, coffee outings after shared classes. They’d stay up late in the library, long after everyone else had left, talking about things that felt too personal, too vulnerable to share with anyone else. Haewon convinced herself it was nothing more than a close friendship—after all, she had a large circle of friends. What harm could one more friend do?

As time passed, the line between friendship and something more blurred. In the quiet moments following your disappearance, Haewon found herself relying on Sungjae in ways she hadn’t with Yunho in years. He became her anchor when the world felt uncertain, someone who made her feel alive and seen.

At first, it was easy to justify: she and Yunho had been drifting apart. Haewon had noticed it in the way their conversations had become shorter, less meaningful; the way they sat together in silence more often than not, the air between them filled with unspoken tension. 

But there was also something darker about Sungjae—something tied to the past Haewon desperately tried to forget. The night you disappeared, Sungjae had humiliated you, his cruel words cutting through the air as everyone watched in uncomfortable silence. And Haewon had stood by, doing nothing. She had stayed silent, too afraid to confront him, too indifferent to speak up.

Yunho had done nothing, either. His usual kind, gentle demeanor had turned into passive inaction, making excuses whenever Haewon brought up the topic like "It's just a phase" or "They’ll work it out."

“Do you think Sungjae had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” Haewon suddenly blurted out as the two were cooking dinner. 

Yunho froze, his jaw tightening. He knew the answer—he had always known. The last time anyone had seen you was when you stormed out of the apartment, cheeks flushed with shame and frustration. And yet, Yunho couldn’t admit it out loud. Admitting that Sungjae was responsible meant confronting his own failure, his own role in pushing you away.

“If he did,” Yunho said, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“But you were the last one who saw her.”

His entire body tensed, the weight of Haewon’s accusation hitting him harder than he expected. He turned to face her fully, eyes dark and cold.

“You think I had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” His voice was low, hurt and anger threading through each word. He could feel the bile rising in his chest, burning with the injustice of her suspicion.

“That’s not what I said—”

“But it’s what you meant.” Yunho cut her off. “You think I’m the reason she’s gone?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” she murmured, her voice softer now, though the accusation still lingered between them. 

“All I did was walk her out, and the CCTV proved that! You have no idea how much Y/N’s disappearance is affecting me! But to even suggest that I could’ve done something…” His voice trailed off, swallowed by a surge of emotion.

“I can’t do this,” Yunho muttered, his voice barely audible now as he turned away from her. Grabbing his jacket off the chair, he headed for the door, his movements tense and deliberate. “I’m done with this conversation.”

His footsteps faltered just before reaching the door, the frustration inside him boiling over. He spun back to face Haewon, his voice sharp and biting.

“Every time it comes to Sungjae, you choose him. Why?”

“I–” Haewon’s voice cracked, but Yunho didn’t stop. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Haewon knew it wasn’t fair to keep dragging him along when her heart was no longer fully his. But the thought of actually leaving—the finality of it—terrified her. The knowledge that once she walked away, there would be no going back was something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

And then Yunho proposed. 

It caught her completely off guard—a moment she hadn’t prepared for despite all her doubts and uncertainty. She hadn’t expected him to propose, not now. But instead of facing the truth, instead of admitting that her heart had drifted away and she was entangled in an affair with someone else, Haewon did the only thing she could think of: she convinced herself that accepting Yunho’s proposal would fix everything.

Haewon felt trapped. She felt the walls closing in, suffocating her as she tried to play the part of the happy fiancée. On the night of the engagement party, everyone around them was celebrating, toasting to their future, but all she could think about was how wrong it all felt. Her heart wasn’t in it—not fully—and she knew it.

The alcohol didn’t help. Glass after glass, Haewon drank to drown out the noise in her head, to silence the guilt and doubt. She wanted to forget, to numb herself to everything, but instead, it only made her feel more exposed.

She avoided Yunho most of the night, choosing instead to party with her friends, laughing too loudly, her smile brittle around the edges. Yunho tried to get her to slow down, to pull her back to him, to hold her close, but every time he did, it felt like the air was being sucked out of her lungs. It wasn’t his fault, but being near him only made the weight of her choices heavier.

Finally, something inside her snapped. Right there, in front of everyone. The frustration, the guilt, the suffocating pressure of pretending—it all came to the surface. She knew it was unfair, that Yunho didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. 

Now, as she laid in bed next to Sungjae, the weight of her betrayal closed in on her. The wedding was fast approaching, a date circled on the calendar like a death sentence, and there was no backing out now. The dress had been chosen, the invitations sent. Everyone was expecting a celebration, but all Haewon could feel was dread. 

Yunho had betrayed you too, hadn’t he? He had stood on the sidelines, just as complicit, watching as Sungjae’s cruelty unraveled you. And yet, he had stayed—stayed with her, proposed to her, tried to build a future with her. It was laughable. 

The two of them, pretending like they could escape what they’d done, like they could forge something real out of ashes. But the truth had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. 

They were no better than the man lying next to her now.

Perhaps this was what she and Yunho both deserved—two people who had betrayed you, condemned to a life of misery together.

Life in the Emporium was nothing short of magical surprises.

Each day began with a quiet ritual, a moment of calm before the shop's unique energy fully awoke. The first thing you’d do each morning was reach for the incense—carefully selected for its cleansing properties—and light it. As the fragrant smoke curled into the air, it seemed to reset the entire space, gently sweeping away the lingering energies left behind by the previous day’s visitors.

Above, the flowers in the hanging garden stirred with the first touch of morning light, their vibrant petals responding as if in greeting. You watered them with a flick of the wrist, though it felt more like a gesture of care than necessity—they thrived on the shop's magic more than on water.

The shop had its own rhythm, a delicate balance between the mundane and the mystical. Travelers, clients, and even the occasional spirit wandered in, drawn by the promise of wishes granted—some simple, others far more complicated. You had seen all kinds: the weary traveler who just wanted safe passage home, the desperate lover seeking a second chance, or the ambitious merchant hoping to change their fortune.

But nothing in the emporium was granted without a cost, and the price wasn’t paid in gold or silver. Every transaction required something far more precious—a wish. Not the kind made on a whim, but a deeply held desire, pulled from the very core of one’s soul.

You would watch as they approached the counter, hands trembling ever so slightly as they revealed their request. Their eyes flickered with doubt as the weight of the exchange settled upon them. Standing before you, they were caught between what they needed and what they were about to give up, realizing that their wish, once surrendered, would be gone forever.

You always asked if they were certain. If they understood the nature of their sacrifice. But the emporium never rejected a payment once it was offered. 

You had become accustomed to the shop’s quirks, trusting its ancient magic to maintain a balance that you could only partly comprehend. It was more than a shop; it was a living entity, guiding not only the customers but you, its keeper, shaping the course of both your lives in subtle, unseen ways.

Everything functioned smoothly, like clockwork—until the day Yunho arrived.

From the moment Yunho stepped into the emporium, his presence unsettled you. There was a calm assurance in the way he carried himself, grounding everything around you. Despite never having met him before, something inside you insisted Yunho wasn’t a stranger. 

You recalled the strange memories that had flooded your senses—the wind whipping around you as you sat in a car with Yunho, the sun illuminating the way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It felt so real, as if you’d lived that moment before, but then it dissolved into something deeper, something raw. 

The emotions had gripped you before you could react, dragging you under like a riptide. Your knees buckled, and the world tilted, leaving you gasping for air. Yunho was there, of course. Even through the thick haze of your feelings, he kept you steady, his arms the only thing keeping you from crumbling completely.

Even now, the echoes of that moment lingered in your body. You could still feel the weight of the emotions that had passed through you, as if the magic had left an imprint on your soul. 

“Fate has already tied their threads together.”

Your mind raced, trying to grasp Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s conversation. 

What did that mean? What threads? Could the connection you felt—this strange, undeniable pull—be part of some cosmic plan, one that had existed long before you even stepped foot in the emporium?

But how could you accept something so profound when you couldn’t even remember him? The thought haunted you, and yet, deep down, the pull toward Yunho only grew stronger, as if Fate itself refused to let you walk away.

You sighed, taking a long drag from your pipe, leaning back as you watched a few late summer blooms drift down from the skylight’s hanging garden. Their petals fluttered like tiny omens in the gentle breeze. Fall had arrived, and with the change in seasons, the line between the living and the departed would thin, bringing even more travelers and clients from different realms. 

The bell above the door jingled faintly, drawing your attention. You glanced over, catching the sleek, shadowy form slipping through the crack in the door—a flash of fur before it darted out into the evening. You immediately knew who it was.

“Wooyoung,” you called out. The cat froze mid-step, his tail twitching with surprise. Slowly, he turned his head, his onyx eyes gleaming mischievously in the dim light.

“Don’t even try it,” you added, placing your hands on your hips. He blinked at you, feigning innocence, but you weren’t about to let him slink away without answers this time.

The cat stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to sneak out, then padded toward you with that familiar, too-casual saunter. By the time he reached you, he shifted back into his human form with a dramatic sigh, ruffling his messy hair as if you’d truly inconvenienced him.

“I was just stepping out,” Wooyoung said, giving you that infuriating smirk of his. “Needed some air. It’s stuffy in here with all this—" He waved his hand around vaguely, “—magic.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. “You are magic, Wooyoung.” Your tone was teasing, playful. “Haven’t you had enough of the outside world and tormenting humans for one lifetime?”

“I’m a cat. Gotta see what the world’s up to,” he shrugged. 

There was a beat of silence, and you took a breath before speaking. “I heard your conversation with Hongjoong last night.”

Wooyoung froze for the briefest moment, his eyes widening just slightly before he masked it with another lazy grin. The shift in his demeanor was quick, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the flicker of panic he tried to bury. 

"It’s not polite to eavesdrop," he teased, his voice light but edged with a subtle wariness.

You weren’t about to let him wiggle his way out of this one. You had seen the way he was squirming, avoiding the real issue, and this time you needed answers. 

"What does fate have to do with me and Yunho?"

His smile faltered, a crack in his usual carefree facade. Wooyoung shifted uneasily, searching for the right words to soften the blow, but knowing there was no easy way out. He could feel your frustration mounting, the tension stretching unbearably thin.

"It’s... well, it’s like this," His voice lowered, and for once, he sounded serious. "Hongjoong thinks you and Yunho are bound together in ways that we don’t fully understand. It’s something that’s deeper and older…something that humans refer to as soulmates."

Soulmates.

It sounded ridiculous, unbelievable. You and Yunho, tied together by fate? He was just a traveler, someone the shop had revealed itself to. There was nothing special about him. 

"How?" you scoffed, shaking your head as if the mere action would dispel the ridiculous notion. "He’s a stranger, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you. 

"Well… the thing is you have met him before.” But the thing is... you don’t remember. Because you can’t, Wooyoung wanted to say. 

"What are you talking about? Then why can’t I remember him? What did I forget?"

Your chest tightened. The frustration, the confusion, the pull you’d felt around Yunho ever since he first entered the shop—it all started to transform into something deeper, something more unsettling. It was as if a fog was lifting, revealing shadows of memories you couldn’t quite grasp.

He let out a long breath, rubbing his face. "It’s complicated. There are things...about you, that you don’t remember. That you chose not to remember."

Your mind raced. Memories? With Yunho? The man you barely knew, who had walked into your life like any other traveler? It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

"If I erased him from my life, then maybe I had a reason," you snapped, the words tasting bitter. Wooyoung winced but didn’t argue. 

"Fate doesn’t just disappear because you forget. He’s still tied to you, even if you can’t feel it." He paused, his eyes searching your face, hoping for some sign of understanding. "Maybe it’s why the shop revealed itself to him. It’s fate, pulling you back together."

You could feel the ground slipping from beneath you, your grip on reality loosening with every word he spoke. What Wooyoung was suggesting—soulmates, forgotten love, fate—it sounded like something out of a dream, a fantasy too far removed from the life you knew. 

"Why does it matter if I’m connected to him or not?" you continued, your throat tightening as the question lodged itself there, too painful to speak.

The air grew heavy, thick with tension, as if the walls themselves were reacting to the storm brewing inside you. The shelves rattled, and the shop’s energy pulsed erratically, reflecting the confusion and fear you could no longer keep at bay. The lanterns flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows that danced along the walls, twisting in the growing unease.

You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the chaos within, but your mind raced with unanswered questions, with the gnawing suspicion that Wooyoung was right, and it terrified you. 

Wooyoung’s face fell, the spark of his usual wit dimming into something darker, something almost sorrowful. He shifted uncomfortably again, as though he wished to be anywhere but here, at this moment.

"Because no one wants to see you hurting, Y/N,” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with regret. "You were in so much pain that you thought forgetting him and becoming the keeper would make it stop."

That name again. Y/N. It echoed in your mind, a foreign weight on your chest. It felt like a name you should know, but it slipped through your grasp. A name tied to a life you no longer remembered. 

"That toy," he continued, "it triggered something, didn’t it? The memories—the emotions—they were too strong. And when you felt that, your magic went unstable. The shop could barely handle it."

You shuddered, the memory of that moment still fresh, still raw. But one question clawed at you, louder than the chaos you’d unleashed.

What had been so unbearable that the only answer was to forget?

“Why is it so cold?” you groaned, bouncing on your toes and rubbing your hands together, trying to get the blood flowing. 

The train station was always drafty, but today it felt like the cold had settled into your bones, refusing to leave. You shivered and glanced around, surprised to see no snow on the ground. It was odd—this time of year usually meant blankets of white everywhere, the world covered in a quiet stillness. Yet now, all you had was the biting wind and a gray sky threatening snow that never seemed to come.

Yunho stood beside you, his breath puffing out in small clouds as he huddled deeper into his coat. He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. 

“You’re always cold,” he teased, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Should’ve worn more layers.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re practically a furnace,” you grumbled. 

The two of you had decided to take the train home for the holidays after your first semester of university. You were both exhausted—finals had drained whatever energy you had left—but there was excitement in the air as Christmas approached. 

“I’m surprised there’s no snow,” you mused, gazing up at the dull, overcast sky. The clouds hung low, thick and heavy, but still no sign of snowflakes falling. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Christmas without snow.”

Yunho hummed in agreement beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he followed your gaze. “Yeah, it’s like something’s missing. Hopefully, it’ll snow while we’re home.”

His voice was hopeful, and you could see the small spark of excitement in his eyes. Yunho loved snow—it wasn’t just the beauty of it, but the way it brought a sense of stillness and magic to the world. The kind of magic that reminded you both of simpler times, of building snowmen as kids and staying out too long until your fingers were numb.

The next morning, Yunho’s wish came true.

Snow. Fresh, untouched snow covered everything. The rooftops, the streets, the trees—it all glistened under the early morning light, as if the entire world had been dipped in magic overnight. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he hoped for when you both had been standing at the train station, wondering if Christmas would even feel like Christmas without snow. Now, it was here. His wish had come true.

But more than that, he wanted to share this moment with you.

You blinked up at the sky, a few lazy snowflakes still drifting down, landing on your lashes and melting against your skin. Yunho stood beside you, watching the way your eyes lit up, the way you took in the moment like it was something precious. 

The two of you stood there for a while, wordlessly watching the snowfall together. It was the kind of stillness that felt sacred, the kind that only came with the first snow of the season. 

As Yunho glanced at you, his breath caught. You weren’t doing anything special—just standing there, bundled up in your oversized hoodie, your hair slightly messy from sleep, your cheeks flushed from the cold. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all him. You were just you, in the most effortless way, and somehow, that had always been enough.

There was a simplicity to the moment that felt different, more profound than he expected. Last summer, when you’d spent long, sunny days together, he’d thought he understood what he felt for you. He cared about you more than anyone, maybe more than he should’ve let on. It was a love that had grown quietly, steadily, and was beginning to envelop him. 

It was too easy to love you. Too effortless, too natural, as if his heart had always been meant for you. And that’s what made it so dangerous.

He knew that sometimes, love—no matter how powerful—wasn’t enough. The thought of risking what you had—this simple, effortless connection that meant everything to him—for something as unpredictable as love felt like falling into the ocean.

And Yunho wasn’t ready to make the jump. 

He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples as if that could somehow ease the pounding in his skull. His head felt like it was being split open, a dull, relentless ache that refused to let up. The events of the previous night were a blur—fragments of conversation, too many drinks, and the sinking realization that he’d gone well past his limit.

He’s supposed to head back to Seoul today, back to his life and the steady rhythm of work that usually kept his life in order. But there was no way he could face that right now, not with the amount of alcohol that had been consumed. 

The events of last night came back to him in disjointed, hazy flashes. He remembered the way your fingers brushed against the plush toy, followed by the sudden paling of your face right before you collapsed to the floor. 

Yunho’s heart had nearly stopped at that moment, the world around him crashing into stillness. The usual hum of the emporium faded into nothing, the vibrant colors of the shelves and strange objects blurring into meaningless shapes. 

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, and he was running, sprinting toward you as if the very air had been torn from his lungs. The world shrank, narrowing to the sight of you lifeless in his arms.

"Y/N, stay with me," he whispered, panic thick in his voice as he cradled your unconscious body. It was the same terror he’d felt the day you disappeared, the same helpless, gut-wrenching fear that had kept him awake at night, haunted by the thought that he’d never see you again.

Yunho held you like his entire world depended on it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, desperate and unrelenting. He pressed his forehead against yours, as he cradled your head against his chest, the warmth of your skin barely noticeable as panic surged inside him.

“I’m sorry, just please, please don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice barely holding together. His fingers tightened their grip on you, trembling with the fear that if he let go, even for a second, you’d slip away for good.

He couldn’t lose you, not when he had just found you again.

Then came Wooyoung’s revelation. You had chosen to disappear from his life. It wasn’t an accident, or some cruel twist of fate. You had asked the shop to erase your memories—all of them. He could still hear Wooyoung’s voice, bitter and sharp, recounting the details, but the exact reason why Wooyoung had been so angry at him was lost in the fog of the night.

He remembered the sting—the way the door slammed behind him, the coldness of the night hitting his face as he stood there, dazed, confused and frustrated. You were alive, bound to this strange realm by forces he didn’t fully understand. But worse than that, you had willingly cut him out of your life.

After that, things blurred even more. He’d ended up at a bar, the numbness setting in as he ordered drink after drink, trying to drown the sea of emotions that threatened to consume him. Somewhere along the way, Yeosang had joined him, and Yunho found himself pouring his heart out—his frustrations, his guilt, his failures. He had ranted about the weight of trying to be the good guy while everything around him crumbled.

Now, in the harsh light of day, the weight of it all hit him with a different kind of intensity. His heart felt heavy, and he had no idea where to go from here.

Yunho sat up, staring at his phone as if it might give him the answers he was too afraid to ask for. His thumb hovered over Haewon’s name on the screen, trembling slightly. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say—he didn’t have a plan, only a sinking feeling in his chest that told him he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. 

The line rang once, then twice. By the third ring, his heart had started racing, the weight of everything he had to confront pressing down on him like a vice. When it went to voicemail, Yunho’s stomach dropped.

“Hey, it’s Haewon! Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon!”

The artificial cheer in her voice made his skin crawl, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could almost picture her—smiling, carefree, the version of her that had loved him wholeheartedly. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. That wasn’t who they were.

"Hey..." he finally whispered, “give me a call when you get a chance.” Yunho waited for a beat, as if hoping she might pick up at the last second, but the line remained silent, empty.

“Yunho? Aren’t you getting ready to head back?” His mom’s voice was gentle, but it startled him from his thoughts. She appeared in the doorway, concern etched in the lines of her face. 

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know if I’m going back,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with uncertainty. 

His mom walked in, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, her presence warm and calming. She had always been able to read him better than anyone, even when he was trying his best to hide. Mrs. Jeong didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the silence hang between them, giving him the space to breathe.

“Tell me more.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything he’d been holding in. It was strange—he felt like a teenager again, venting to his mom about his problems, but this time it felt more suffocating. The future he had thought he wanted, the life he had worked so hard to build, no longer felt like his.

“I’m hungover. I’m miserable. I don’t want to marry Haewon. I’m not happy with my job or where I am in my life. Mingi is my only friend, Yeosang kind of hates me, and Y/N…” He let out a watery chuckle, the sound laced with bitterness. “She’s gone.”

There it was, the truth laid bare—the reality that had been gnawing at him for months, too terrifying to confront. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything he had been trying to ignore.

Mrs. Jeong’s gaze softened as she listened, her heart heavy with a mother’s instinct to protect, but knowing she couldn’t fix this for him. She reached out, placing a hand over his. 

“You’ve been carrying this for a while, haven’t you?” Her voice was soft, laced with a sadness that only came from witnessing the quiet battles of someone you love.

Yunho looked down to their joined hands, his throat tightening. The words he had held back for so long hovered on the edge of his lips, threatening to escape. 

“I thought I could handle it. But—" He paused, his fingers gripping hers a little tighter, his chest heaving as he fought to keep the floodgates closed. 

"I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired, Mom. Of the job, the engagement, everything. It’s like I’m suffocating, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.” he replied, quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. The fear that had been chaining him to a future he didn’t want.

His mother exhaled softly, her brow furrowing as she absorbed his words. After a moment, she squeezed his hand and spoke gently, her voice calm but firm.

“You’ve always been so considerate. Always thinking of others. But have you thought about what you want? Truly want, not just what you think you should want?”

It wasn’t something Yunho had ever allowed himself to consider fully, and even now, the thought seemed almost too outlandish, too selfish. But the way his mother looked at him, with such understanding, made it feel less frightening, less impossible to confront.

“You’re allowed to want something different, Yunho. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to choose yourself.”

Her words struck something within him, unraveling the tightly wound rope of expectations he had tangled himself in for so long. He hesitated, his heart pounding as he dared to voice the question that had haunted him for months.

“So you wouldn’t be upset if I called off the wedding?” His voice was small, almost as if he were afraid the very mention of it might cause everything to collapse around him.

His mother shook her head, her expression soft and reassuring. “Of course not, Yunho. Haewon is lovely, but…” She paused, choosing her words carefully, as she looked at him. “I always felt like she wasn’t the one for you.”

Yunho blinked, surprised by the admission. His mother had never said anything like that before, and in all their talks about the wedding, she had always been supportive, never giving any sign that she might have doubts of her own. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asked, almost incredulous. 

“Because you’re finally listening to yourself. This is your life, not mine, not anyone else’s. It wasn’t my place to tell you how to live, Yunho. I wanted to believe that you knew what was best for you.”

“And if I quit my job?” he asked, testing the waters, anxiety sparking in his voice. 

“Gunho would be thrilled,” she laughed. “You know, he was absolutely livid when you took the finance job over the Tigers. I’ve never seen him so upset with you! He ranted for weeks about how you were wasting your talents behind a desk instead of being out there building the ultimate dream team.”

His mother’s laughter faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “We’ve all had our hopes for you, Yunho. But those were our hopes, not yours. Life’s not a straight line. It’s full of twists and turns. You don’t have to stay on a path that doesn’t feel right anymore.”

There was something comforting about the idea, the notion of stepping away from the path he had chosen, back to something that felt more like home—more like himself. Sitting with his mother, he began to wonder: What if it wasn’t reckless? What if choosing the life he truly wanted wasn’t some wild, selfish fantasy? What if it was okay to dream again?

His mind wandered to you, to the quiet snowfall and how the snowflakes caught on your lashes. He thought of that summer, driving to the beach, the wind in your hair and the sun beaming down on you, like the world itself couldn’t touch you as long as you were together.

He thought of meeting you for the first time at six years old, running across the street and greeting you as if he’d known him your entire life. It was as if he’d found his other half that day, the person who made him feel complete even in his innocence.

But then, more painfully, he thought of meeting you for the first time again. Only this time, you hadn’t known him at all. 

With you, there was no need to fill the silence. Everything felt easy, natural, like you were meant to exist beside each other. You were his best friend, the one person who made him feel like himself. And suddenly, Yunho knew. 

It was you. 

The version of himself that existed when he was with you—that was who he truly was. It was a terrifying realization, but at the same time, it was the most certain thing he’d felt in a long time. You had always been the one constant in his life, the one person who made everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t.

And he didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose you.

He wanted a future with you.

Yunho swallowed, his pulse quickening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was clear. 

“I think…” he began, his voice steady, resolute, “I know where I want to go from here.”

Pushing open the door, the familiar chime rang through the shop. It was empty, save for you, and Yunho’s breath caught when he saw you standing behind the counter, bathed in the glow of fading daylight. 

He glanced over at you, watching the way you moved, how you seemed so different and yet so familiar. The person standing in front of him was still you, the same person he’d known since childhood. The memories from childhood rushed back again—the snow, the summer sun, the first time you played baseball together. It all made sense now, in ways it never had before.

“Yunho,” you greeted, your voice carrying a warmth as you lifted your hand with a graceful flick. The scroll hovering beside you shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into the air, disappearing as if it had never existed. 

“How are you feeling?” Yunho asked quietly. There was something boyish, almost shy, in the way he looked at you, like he was a kid again, standing in front of his crush, hoping for something, anything, that would tell him he was making the right choice.

“Better. Thank you for being here the other night. It seems like you were a big help to Wooyoung.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he murmured, his voice soft as his gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as if he were seeing you for the first time all over again. There was a quiet admiration that he couldn’t quite hide, no matter how hard he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"I uh…" he hesitated, his eyes flickered away for a moment, as if searching for courage in the silence between you, “I’m leaving for Seoul. Just to take care of some things. I wanted to see you before I left.”

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your eyes, the corners of your lips lifting in that familiar way that made his heart stutter. A playful yet gentle hum escaped your lips. 

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Your question hung in the air, teasing him, pulling at the tangled mess of feelings he'd tried to bury for so long. He looked at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he struggled to find the right response. 

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he felt completely exposed. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

The air around you seemed to still, the gravity of his admission settling like dust in the corners of the emporium. The idea of leaving felt wrong to him, and yet it was inevitable, something he had to do. 

Your eyes softened with understanding, feeling more like home than any place he could go. Something in your gaze recognized him, sensing the invisible thread that tied you together. 

“No matter where you are,” you said quietly, your voice carrying the same calm assurance that had always soothed him, “the emporium will always be within reach. As will I.”

The words were simple, yet they held a promise—a promise that went beyond physical space or memory. The emporium was never bound by the ordinary rules of the world, and neither, it seemed, were you. Your small, understanding smile made Yunho feel that, despite the uncertainty, everything would be okay.

“Besides,” you continued, a playful glint flickering in your eyes, “I can always ask Wooyoung to lend a helping hand. He knows the way.”

“That cat does nothing but bully me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, recalling how Wooyoung had made him a target of mischief.

Your laugh filled the space between you, a sound that seemed to chase away the heaviness for just a moment. Though Yunho tried to maintain his frown, the corners of his lips betrayed him, lifting into a reluctant smile. 

Even though you didn’t remember him, it didn’t matter. There was something deeper between you, something unshakeable. And that, in its own way, gave him the strength he needed to leave.

You stepped forward, that invisible thread that had always seemed to exist between you tugged at your heart, drawing you toward him. It was a connection that transcended words, possibly even space and time. Yunho’s eyes lingered on you, their quiet intensity making your heart skip a beat.

“The next time I come into the shop,” he began, his voice low, “I’ll be ready to make my wish.”

You searched his face, trying to read the depths of what he meant, but all you found was that same gentle fervor staring back at you. 

“You’ve thought about it?”

“I have,” he admitted. “With everything that’s happening, I think I finally know what I want.”

The weight of his words settled between you like a promise. Whatever his wish was, it wasn’t something to be rushed—it belonged to the future, a time when he was ready to claim it. And somehow, you understood that.

“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered, though you knew Yunho heard it.

As he turned to leave, a sudden thought gripped you, pulling you back from the brink of your goodbye. “Yunho… before you leave…”

He froze at the sound of his name on your lips, his heart fluttering. Every breath, every glance, vibrated with something unspoken, something powerful.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft, tentative. “To me?”

<< iii | v >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hello sex witch I love what you do it's so cool and informative!!! this is probably a dumb question but like my partner and I were both virgins (we're each other's first and are solidly monogamous) so if we only ever have sex with each other are we at risk of getting STDs? I googled it and Planned Parenthood says yes but I honestly don't know how I could get syphilius from doing oral on her if neither of us have never done it before. Is there a real risk??

hi anon,

there's no such thing as a dumb question!

you and your partner are unlikely to spontaneously manifest syphilis if neither of you have ever had partnered sex, but it's not impossible for someone to have sexually transmitted infections without having ever had sex. many people catch herpes as children through close non-sexual contact with adult caregivers, some people contract STIs that are transmitted by their mothers during pregnancy or birth, and HIV can spread through shared syringes or piercing equipment.

I don't say any of this to make you or your partner needlessly paranoid or fearful; STIs are part of life like any other illness and shouldn't be seen as something that reflect negatively on the people who have them. ultimately, it's up to you and your partner to decide if you feel reasonably sure that you are both STI-free and willing to take that (slim) risk, or if you would prefer to get a couple's STI test as a fun little date. both are completely acceptable answers, and it's totally up to you to decide as a couple what the right choice is for you to make together.

[lagataprrr]

is it possible to get a short blurb of Satoru and plus size girl friend and how they go costume shopping, and he sees reader staring at a ghost face mask

hehehe

OH! I LOVE THIS

I hope this satisfied your ask <3 currently still working on chapter five of the series and its taken me longer bc kind of stuck on a scene lol

Ghost face Mask

"What about this one?" You ask, and Satoru looks up from the rack of costumes he was looking through to look at you. He raises a brow at the costume in your hand of what seemed to be a sexy witch, it was a long dark purple sleeveless dress, that had a slit that probably stopped high enough on your thighs. It brought purple gloves and a black witches hat and a garner belt for the exposed thigh???

Satoru's mind began playing a scene of you coming out of his room dressed in it, how sexy you'd look prancing around in it while wearing your hot platform boots. He could see himself dragging a hand up the slit of the dress, caressing your calves and up your thick thighs. In fact it would be so easy to slip his hand between your thighs and touch your pu-

"Baby?" Satoru is snapped out of his daydream at your voice. Clearly knowing the look on his face as you let out a laugh, putting the costume back on the rack and walking elsewhere.

"Wait," Satoru pouted, grabbing it and stuffing it into the basket he was carrying for you. "I like this one too."

"Toru, I only need one costume. You've said yes to four of them, we're gonna have to choose one."

"We can get all of them."

"Halloween is only one night."

"It can be halloween every night if you just wear these for me." He says, arm wrapping around your waist, as he presses a smooch on your cheek. You giggle and softly push him off from his antics.

"Let's find you a costume." You say as you pulled his hand, finding the men's costume area. Eyes scanning through the many options, as you found a couple of possible ones. "What about this one?"

"You want me to be your sexy doctor, hmm?"

You grin, stepping over to him as you leaned into him dramatically. "Oh yes, doctor. Somethings terribly wrong with me."

His hand comes to your waist again, dramatically dipping you back and lifting one of your legs up making you squeal. "Of course, my sexy patient, I as your doctor will do a thorough full body check up," He says, momentarily letting go of the basket on his other hand to grip the thigh of the leg he'd raise. "Starting with the most vital place." Unabashedly patting your inner thigh, so fucking close to your cunt.

"Satoru!" You gasp, laughing loudly, probably catching the attention of a few onlookers but paying them no mind. He leans down and kisses you a couple of times before letting you stand normal again, still attached to your lips. You're giggling into the kisses, never a dull day with your boyfriend. He picks up the basket again and takes the costume from your hands and puts it in it. "So that one?"

"We can keep looking, you already have a sexy nurse one picked out so I can match it. Now let's find one about a wizard or warlock or something so I can match that sexy witch costume." You shake your head and glance around the racks, though your eyes caught a white mask that was hanged up near a corner of a display. Walking over and pulling it off the mass of masks from the wall and suddenly it was you who were having lewd thoughts about this costume.

A ghost face mask. And suddenly you're remembering all the hot tiktoks you'd seen on your for you page, about girls having a fun time with their boyfriends while wearing the mask. And fuck, you could definitely see Satoru in this.

He'd be standing on the doorway to your bedroom, mask on, his full on toned chest on display, delicious rippling abs and toned V on his hips leading down to a pair of black pants and boots covering his lower half. And then it was an image of you being fucked by him, ghostface mask still on, you're on your stomach, his full weight on you as he had both your hands behind your back. Cock dragging in and out of your pulsating cunt. The skin of your ass and thighs rippling at his hard thrusts, the contionous sound of skin slapping against skin.

All the while you're staring at the mask, Satoru caught on to the look on your face. Blown out pupils, completely out of it in your little head and he has the biggest smirk on his face. He takes quiet steps towards you and stands directly behind you, a hand slowly gripping your hip to pull you back into him. This makes you look back at him, now out of your little daydream.

"We're definitely getting that."

You clear your throat, a nervous laugh stumbling out of your lips. "What? Why?"

"I've seen your TikTok for you page while you've showered." And your jaw drops, he smirks at you, hands grabbing the mask out of your hands as he walks away to look at other costumes. "Come on baby, the faster we find other costumes the faster we can get home so I can put on the mask."

Credits to @super-marvel-dc for the gojo divider!!! the Ghostface pic I found online and added a purplish filter on it for the purposes of this blurb

I've added this to the Blame it on the Club's Playlist| Series Masterlist, under Blurbs :))))))

Tag List:

@bankaixx

@shiftinghoe

@uniquecutie-puffs

@thewomans-stuff

@plathsotherib

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@fangirllookingforlife

@tluvr777

@sunehry

[reareaotaku]

Self-Aware Leon Kennedy

i don't know if this is good or not-

⚔️ Leon knew something was wrong. He may not have realized before, but now he knows somethings wrong. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he was getting a heavy sense of déjà vu. That was when he met this strange woman- She was different. She wasn't like him- A part of something else

🐈‍⬛ "Oh, sweet summer child." She laughs as he looks at her confused.

⚔️ "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

🐈‍⬛ She laughs again, before gesturing to the town. "Don't you feel like you've been here before?"

⚔️ His confusion only increases. "What does that mean?"

🐈‍⬛She smiles. "Oh, please. I know you feel it; Like something's strange."

⚔️ Leon was now intrigued by the witch's words. "What about it?"

🐈‍⬛ That's when she explains to him that he was trapped in a video game and he was nothing but code, but she knew how to get him out. He needed the player to sign a deal, posing it as a 'terms of service' no-one ever reads those. He didn't know what the fuck she was talking about, but he felt inclined to believe her. She sys then from there he needs to get ingredients to make a spell out of.

⚔️ It was all very confusing for Leon and he was having an identity crisis.

🎮 You were confused when you opened Resident Evil 4 and a 'Terms of Service' message popped up. You rolled your eyes before clicking the accept button without much of a thought.

⚔️ Leon was thrilled when you clicked the terms. Now he just had to put the witch's plan into motion.

🎮 The remake was way different than the original- At least from what you've seen. You were taken on a different route, to collect these things? You had never seen such a thing before, but you assumed it was part of the game. Maybe it had to do what the La Plaque?

⚔️ It didn't take long before he was able to break the coding of the system. The problem was that he made one fatal flaw- Instead of sending HIM to the real world, it brought YOU to the game. When he went to the witch, she laughed, calling him a fool as he had to complete the game before he could be let out

🎮 You awoke with a blonde man standing above you, causing you to freak out. He quickly covers your mouth and hushes you up. Your eyes are wide as you look at him and you slowly begin to realize who he was- Leon Kennedy????

[sarawritestories]

Tell Me A Story, Nes

Nessian Fic

NESSIAN WEEK DAY 5: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Summary: Cassian offers to braid Nesta's hair and she begins to talk about her Book. Which leads the General to make an unusual request.

A/N: I Adored this prompt because I know these two are so soft behind closed doors!

If you see mistakes, no, you didn't!

@nessianweek

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Cassian smiled as the door to his and Nesta's room opened. The later walking in eyes bright but tired. "A good book club with Em, and Gwyn?" He began to rise from his seat by the fire when his mate held up a hand.

"Let me change and I'll tell you all about it." She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, "When I come out, would you be willing to braid my hair?"

Cassian's grinn widened, "As if you have to ask, Nes." He motioned for her to come toward him, and she complied. With his thumb, he softly pulled her bottom lip from her gnawing. Placing a chaste kiss on her mouth, he whispered, "I love you."

Nesta, face warmed with a flush, never tiring of the Illyrian saying those words to her, her silver eyes twinkling against the light of the flame. A flame she no longer feared, no longer pictured her father's neck snapping at the sound of a crack. The male in front of her was to thank for taking the time to work with her through that trauma from the war.

She kissed him once more, and she could hear Cassian's wings rustling in response. "And I love you, Cas." She watched as his Honey colored eyes warmed at the sentiment as if he too had waited for someone to utter those words to him. She lightly patted his cheek as she headed to the bathing chambers.

When she returned her favorite silk nightgown in her favorite shade of red hugging her body, Cassian patted the spot between his legs comb in hand, "Feel better." Nesta smiled and watched as the General took in her whole body. She shifted under his soft scrutiny. She wasn't sure if she would ever be used to someone who not only looked at her with such fierce passion as Cassian's eyes always did. Not sure she would ever be used to being seen as someone worth cherishing worth protecting and asking for nothing in return.

"Nes?" His low voice pulled her from her thoughts to find his dark brows furrowed with concern, "You alright?"

The eldest Archeron grinned widely, showing teeth, a smile reserved for him, Her Valkyries, and Azriel: her inner circle. "I'm wonderful."

Cassian chuckled, "Then come here, I'm wanting to hear about this book."

Nesta grabbed the book from the table and rushed over to where he had motioned her to sit, when she adjusted to a comfortable position on the floor between his legs, he began to separate her hair and began to braid. Nesta hummed and leaned into his touch, reminded that the calloused hands of the Lord of Bloodshed held a gentleness to them. Cassian loved doing these things for her, and when she once asked him about why he loved braiding and brushing her hair he had said:

"It reminds me that my hands are capable of being gentle and loving, not just a weapon of war."

So became their nightly routine. Nesta would tell him about the book her book club was reading as he brushed and plaited her hair.

This particular night, she was telling him a story told in a series of books that Gwyn found in a dark corner of the library, it had Assassins, hidden princesses, witches and fearsome warriors and an epic battle they were about to embark on in the final book.

Once Nesta had finished explaining, silence fell between them in the room. She knew he was awake as his fingers were gently tugging her hair to manipulate it into going where he wanted it. Another moment went by before she took a glance at the mirror beside the fireplace to find Cassian smiling at her reflection. "What?" She whispered.

"You always look so free when you talk about your stories? Just like when music plays out by the rainbow, your body comes alive, as does your facial expressions." He pauses his work on her hair to rub his tanned hands against her bare arms, causing a shiver down her spine. "You are breathtaking every day. But I could spend centuries watching you talk about the things you love." He pressed his lips softly to her temple before moving to pinning her braids into a crown, just the way she likes it.

"Cassian, you're too sweet, I fear."

Cassian's chest rumbled with laughter, "You deserve the world, Nes, you deserve someone being sweet to you." Cassian tapped her arm, indicating he was done, and she quickly rose to move toward his lap. Cassian quick to wrap an arm around her waist and hand wrapping over her bare thigh. "You don't want to check my work."

Nesta scoffed, "I trust you." She kissed his cheek, "Thank you, My Love."

"Anything for you, Sweetheart." His wings curved to provide an extra warmth to the room. They fell into silence once more.

"Tell Me a Story, Nes." Cassian whispered.

Nesta faced him, his eyes meeting her silver once with sincerity, "What?"

"Read to me." There was no question to the statement. He continued, "I want to know how the Princess reclaims her throne."

Nesta pressed her hand to her cheek, making sure the warmth of them were not due to a fever. "No one i have courted before has ever been interested in my books," her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian's hand moved from her thigh to cup her face, "I am not, 'no one'. I would crawl to the ends of the earth for you. There is nothing about you that I don't want to know. I want to experience storytelling with you the way I have with music. You have given music meaning for me, Nes. Let us have that with reading to."

Nesta eyes began to glisten with tears, "Okay."

Cassian reached and handed her the book. "Okay."

Nesta opened to the first chapter and her voice a sweet Symphony to the Lord of Bloodshed's ears, "Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom..."

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

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@marvelbros-oneshots @lanea-1 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[sean-gaffney]

What's Left of the Looney Tunes?

So you’re a Looney Tunes fan, and you’re waiting with baited breath (Greetings, Bait!) for the cartoon list for the next Collector’s Choice Blu-Ray.  And as you wait to see if they add that 1953 Friz Freleng or 1958 Robert McKimson cartoon, you must be thinking:  Surely they’ve released every single cartoon at SOME point since the 1980s, right?  Well, except for the really racist ones.  Right?

Nah.  There’s 129 Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies that have never been officially released, restored or unrestored, on home video at all.  And, to be honest, most of them are unlikely to be on the Collector’s Choice sets.  Let’s take a look at the last bastions against having all 1000 LT/MM cartoons available.

Bosko.  Now, there are a few Bosko cartoons available.  There’s 38 Bosko cartoons from 1930-1933, not counting the weird ones like the Talk-ink Kid pilot or whatever Bosko and Honey was.  Of those, 11 have been released officially.  This leaves 27 in limbo.  This is a shame, there are some really good Bosko cartoons.

Buddy.  Even worse, to be honest.  23 Buddy cartoons were made, 5 have had some official release.  That leaves 18.  Now, there’s a reason for that.  They’re awful.  (Also, two of those 18, Buddy of the Apes and Buddy in Africa, also fall under one of the later categories we’ll get to.)

Seven B&W Merrie Melodies.  Two of these, Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land and Goin’ to Heaven on a Mule, are basically banned for content.  Those Were Wonderful Days, Why Do I Dream Those Dreams, The Girl at the Ironing Board, The Miller’s Daughter, and Rhythm in the Bow, are simply not available, possibly as they’re dull.  However, they have been restored.  (As has HtTfHL.)

Seven B&W Looney Tunes.  Mostly the same as above.  The Daffy Duckaroo and Tokio Jokio are banned for content, though we may see Duckaroo someday (Native American caricatures have traditionally been less banned than Black and Asian caricatures).  Saps in Chaps also has some Native American gags, I think.  As for The Fire Alarm, Joe Glow the Firefly, Gopher Goofy and Nutty News, they’ve been restored but never released.

The rest of the “Censored 11”, of which Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land was the first.  As most cartoon fans know, this is not a catch all of all racist WB cartoons, it’s just the ones that were owned by Associated Artists productions.  So yeah, Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time, Clean Pastures, Uncle Tom’s Bungalow, Jungle Jitters, The Isle of Pingo Pongo, All This and Rabbit Stew (a Bugs Bunny cartoon), Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs, Tin Pan Alley Cats, Angel Puss and Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears.  They’ve all been restored.

The dog cartoons.  There are a bunch of one-shots that have no regular characters but all involve dogs, and (likely as they don’t have a “star” and aren’t really great) they’ve never come out.  Pappy’s Puppy, Mixed Master, A Waggily Tale, Dog Tales.  All but Pappy’s Puppy are restored.

Miscellaneous “banned for content” cartoons.  Which is Witch (a Bugs Bunny cartoon), Tom Tom Tomcat (a Tweety and Sylvester cartoon), and two REALLY late cartoons, Hocus Pocus Pow Wow and Injun Trouble.  None of these have been restored.

Random missing 50s stuff.  A Bone for a Bone (Goofy Gophers), Sock a Doodle Doo (Foghorn Leghorn), Easy Peckin’s, Quack Shot (Daffy Duck and Elmer Fudd), Trick or Tweet (Tweety).

60s stuff that’s still actually Warner Brothers.  There’s about 10 or 12 early 60s cartoons that just aren’t very good, and that’s why they’re not out.  They’ve all been restored except Unnatural History and What’s My Lion, which are two of the worst LT/MM shorts that ever came out – not for content, they’re simply pathetically unfunny.

All the post-64 stuff.  There’s a pile, I won’t break them down one by one.  Mostly Daffy/Speedy cartoons, the nadir of both characters.  A few of the Roadrunner cartoons that weren’t stuffed onto that one DVD a while back.  They’re here as no one wants to watch them.

The post-67 stuff, aka the nightmare years.  Cool Cat, Merlin the Magic Mouse, Bunny and Claude… those.  (Though actually, both Bunny and Claude shorts HAVE been released.)  They’re here for the same reason – unpopularity.

Note this doesn’t even get into the cartoons which were fine to release in the 1980s on VHS but *aren’t* fine to release now (all the Merrie Melodies that weren’t banned but have racial stereotypes, such as the Inki cartoons, a huge number of cowboy and Indian cartoons, and Bugs Bunny’s unfortunate wartime cartoon).  Or all the stuff that’s restored and out on Max, but has never hit a DVD or Blu-Ray (half of the 30s Merrie Melodies).  Or the stuff that’s unrestored, not on Max and has never hit a DVD or Blu-Ray (the other half of the 1930s Merrie Melodies).  Or Holiday for Drumsticks, what’s up with that?

In any case, when they announce the cartoons for the 4th set in a week or so, you can look at this list and see if it has any of those.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Tera and Kiara. "Birthday Emergency"

Today was Tera Doorman's sixteenth birthday. And Kiara had already gotten her best friend the best gift she could possibly think of. A red flannel shirt!

it might seem lame, and to anyone else it probably was. But Tera had been asking her parents for any new clothes they could find after she had officially transferred over to her teenager body, and now a lot of her clothes didn't fit quite right because she'd shot up like a weed! She was just as tall as Mrs. V now! Way taller then any other worker drones and especially taller then Kiara herself, a good foot taller. And she'd seen Tera eyeing it when they walked passed the shop window, like all things when it came to her best friend, she never outright said she wanted it, luckily for her she didn't need to! Kiara knew by now when Tera liked something, even when she was trying to hide it.

So she was making her way to Tera's house, gift lovingly wrapped and tucked into her backpack as they'd just got out of school. Her grey converse flattening the blue grass underneath her feet as her vents took in the fresh air. the walled little village of Sanctuary was beautiful in the spring, nestled under the thick shade of jungle canopy with flowers of every color sprouting from the tangled vine covering the circle of metallic houses that made up the colony. A Pump-Jack in the middle that thrummed each time it made it's cycle. The beating heart of town, it's lifeblood running through all of the drones that lived there.

Tera lived closer to the town gate, so that's where she was off to, the houses were stacked on top of each other. a sturdy walkway the only thing connecting the upper houses to the lower ones, she'd have to climb it. Tera's family lived right at the top, the home being slightly larger then all the others. Witch made sense, Tera's mom was the leader of the colony after all.

When she got there she rapped on the wooden door, the entire thing vibrating on it's hinges for a moment before opening wide to reveal the smiling face of Tera's father. N. Missing his signature cap at the moment, and wearing a coat that covered most of his body.

"Kiara! I was wondering when you would stop by!" He wrapped her in a crushing hug, tail wagging behind him. Kiara couldn't help but giggle at his enthusiasm. She wished her own dad was as happy to see her!

"Hi Mr.Doorman! I'm here to give Tera her birthday gift!" She greeted after he put her down. Shaking her backpack (in the visage of a mouse) gently up at him, smiling from visor seam to visor seam. N looks down at her, a slightly confused expression taking over his face.

"She's not with you? We figured you two would've come in together when she didn't show up here right after school." The same look of confusion passed over Kiara's face. Tera had told her she was headed straight home since it was the weekend, and she wanted to practice on her guitar before her parents threw her "Gotcha Day." party. It usually lasted two days or so, starting Friday evening and going on into the day Saturday. Which meant: Sleepover! (She'd already packed her pajamas!)

But if Tera wasn't here where was she?

"No. She's not with me, she said she was going straight home." She explained, confusion turned to worry on both father and best friend. N hummed, putting a finger underneath his chin. "That's odd, Tera would call us if she went somewhere..."

He was right. Tera absolutely would not lie about where she was going, if she wasn't here, something must have held her up. Maybe Rad had seen her? or more accurately, would he be the one talking her ear off about some new skateboarding trick he learned?

So she called him, not even having to scroll through her system contacts to find him, he was listed right under Tera.

It took only a single ring for him to pick up.

"Hey K. Was just on the way over to T's house for the party. Am I late or something?" His raspy, yet somehow soft voice hit her audio receptors. Well, that answered that question, she wasn't with Rad.

"Sorry, I was just calling to see if Ter-Bear was with you. But it doesn't sound like it." She sighed, forcing down the butterflies in her stomach at the sound of his voice. No time for that! Best Friend was missing!

"Nah. Not with me. Thought  I saw her heading into the gym when I left, maybe she's still there?"

The gym? There wasn't any reason for her to go into the gym when school was letting out.

"Thank yooou. I'm gonna look for her, she's gonna miss her own party!" She replied, and Rad responded with a chuckle. "Maybe she went to fight someone. wouldn't be the first time." He hung up, the double beep signifying the calls end.

That was true... Tera could be described as explosive from time to time. But it was usually only in defense of her friends, not for no reason.

Well... she had been acting strange today, being a bit quieter then usual, taking more sips from her flask and being a little... moody. But Tera had assured her everything was fine! She just felt a little warm was all. But now Kiara was concerned She hoped Tera hadn't just said that to keep her from worrying.

"I'm going to check back at the school Mr. Doorman , Rad said she might still be there." She told N before beginning her decent off the walkway again. N gave her a nod and a wave. "Alright... I'll look around town, maybe she got distracted by something."

Everything Hurt.

Tera was curled up under the bleachers in the gym, holding her sides tightly, panting as she tried to cool herself off, she'd drunk every last drop of oil in her flask that was supposed to last her all week, she'd finished it in less then a day, and it still wasn't enough... nothing was enough.

Her internals were searing, sweat building on her visor as she let out a pathetic whimper. It felt like something was moving underneath her silicone, squirming like some caught prey, she felt like she was going to throw up as she felt it shift in her back.

Another wave of pain overtook her and she sunk her fangs into her own hand to stop from screaming. She was dying, she had to be, no way anything else hurt this bad.

"Tera? Are you here?" Oh no... oh no. That was Kiara's voice, she must have come looking after she didn't show up at home. This was bad, she didn't need to see her like this!

She continued to bite into her own hand to stifle her noises, praying that she could keep herself quiet and unseen long enough for Kiara to move on.

Unfortunatly, that was not happening, as Kiara moved farther into the gym, Tera could feel an unbearable pressure in her backside before-

"AHHHHHH!" She screamed, something breaking through the silicone near her legs with a sickening squelch, boiling oil hitting the floor and running down her legs as she felt something slightly squishy hit her back with a slap. "Oh fuck..."

Tera glanced behind her, a tail with a dozen purple glowing eyes looked back, covered in her own oil now dripping onto the floor.

"Tera!" the commotion led Kiara right to her, tears pricked in Tera's eyelights, from fear or pain or just being overwhelmed, she wasn't sure.

"G-Get out of here!" She begged, her mom had warned her of this of course. Of the day her wings and tail would come in. She knew what came after, the blood-lust, the hunger. "I don't wanna h-hurt you!" Her voice was strained with pain as her tail thrashed. she could feel the fleshy wings just under her casing, pushing and pushing, there wasn't anywhere else for them to go.

"Oh my god! T-Tail..." Kiara kneeled next to her, completely ignoring Tera's plea for her to go, a hand placed on her back that was oh so heavenly cold. It almost made the heat bearable... almost.

"Please... Kiara, leave me here..." She was actually crying now, tears falling unabated on the inside of her visor as she felt a growl escape her mouth, the casing covering her back suddenly fractured, causing Tera to lurch forward in pain.

"Like this? You're burning up!" Kiara exclaimed back, taken aback by Tera's new tail by only a second before she was in front of her, grabbing both sides of Tera's face and lifting it up to face her  pretty white eyelights. "I'm with you Ter-Bear, tell me what you need."

The agonized drone whimpered, words failing as the sensation of cold hands touched her face. Oil she needed Oil.

There was no way in hell she was asking that of her though.

"You need oil, don't you?"

Dammit.

Tera shook her head despite her mouth watering at the thought of it, another wave of pain and she felt the wings started to break through, oil staining her tank top as parts of her casing broke off, she attempted to bite her hand again to stop the scream.

But, Kiara stopped her, grabbing her hand before it could make it to her mouth. "No no no, don't do that..." She hummed softly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"No... Hurt you. Leave..." The words were broken and under static, growling under every note. Kiara shook her head. "I'm not leaving, you won't hurt me. I know you better then that."

Kiara! This was not the time to be stubborn!

"You need oil right? I'm right here, you can take it from me." She offered, Tera's eyelights went hollow, and her mouth watered uncontrollably... the heat was so bad, she felt like she was about to pass out...

"No No No, B-Bad Idea- Bad Idea." More broken words, now more desperate.

"Your mouth is watering, it's okay. I promise..." Kiara drew closer, Tera wanted to pull away, she was trembling as the much smaller girl pulled her up to rest Tera's head into her shoulder, she could hear the oil pumping through the tubing, hell, she could smell it. "You won't hurt me." Kiara repeated again, hugging her gently.

Something snapped.

In a moment, Tera was sinking her fangs into her best friends exposed neck, causing the girl to yelp and stiffen as a brief flash of pain was registered through her system, a warning about a hull breach popped up on her visor but she quickly cleared it, stroking Tera's head.

Two things happened at once. A pair of fleshy wings erupted out of Tera's back, and she could feel Tera bite down on her neck harder in response, and... yeah it hurt. But Tera was probably in way more pain, so she did her best to not wince. Then Tera suddenly gripped her harder, she could feel oil pouring into her best friends mouth and out of her at a frightening rate. Her breath stuttered as more warnings began to arrive, she shut them out too, and stroked through a head of thick black hair instead.

"Mmmhuh... You... almost done?" She began to feel woozy, She was loosing... a lot of oil. But she still wasn't scared. Tera would stop, they would both be fine, she knew that.

Then, at her words, she heard a blessedly familiar sound erupt from Tera.

She was purring, her tail wrapping around Kiara's frame as the amount of oil she was loosing slowed to a trickle, a series of whimpers then followed, as she felt a long tongue lick up the wound until it stopped leaking, and Kiara felt herself sigh in relief, there she was...

It took a moment for Tera to register where she was and what she was doing, she pulled back, frightened by the massive bite mark she'd left on Kiara's neck, But Kiara just smiled, much more relieved that Tera was back to herself and collapsed into the taller girls chest.

“W-what just happened?” Tera asked, stammering as she blinked around in confusion, there was the taste of the sweetest oil she'd ever tasted in her mouth.

“Mmm. Aha… I'm kinda dizzy.” Kiara's voice came muffled from being buried in Tera's tank top. Followed by a tired giggle.

“Kia! I'm so sorry! I was just so hot and- Kia?” It didn't matter what she said, Kiara had fallen asleep the moment she knew Tera was okay. Curling up into Tera's lap as the purple eyed drone tried not to panic.

For the moment though… she let Kiara sleep, tail still wrapped around her frame as Tera flexed her new wings behind her with a sigh.

“You stubborn…. Ugh. I could've killed you.” She mumbled, moving some blonde hair out of Kiara's face. [Recovery Mode] reading out on her visor. But she couldn't stop the purring that came from her core. “You trust me too much.”

And yet, there they stayed, Tera stroking down Kiara's back, until Kiara recovered enough to wake back up…

[sitp-recs]

Part II: table for two

Following my list featuring the sea (now with a lil banner cause I’m getting in the reccing zone again baby!!!!), I thought I’d make this a series called “fic as a sensory delight” and continue the trend with good old Drarry domesticity walking hand in hand with some food porn appreciation. Who knew that Drarry living their best life while enjoying tasty treats could be so personal? These fics feel like a comfort meal when life gets too crazy and provide a delicious sensory experience. From cottagecore to road trips, found family, case fic, established relationship and even kinky delights - this list has a bit of everything and features food as a main character either bringing Drarry together, healing past traumas, helping them connect with their heritage or simply playing as a love language. I hope these fics bring you as much comfort, joy and healing as they brought me. Happy weekend!

🥘 Breakfast by @moonflower-rose (E, 3k)

Breakfast is Harry's favorite part of the day.

🥘 Market Saturdays by @sorrybutblog (M, 3k)

In which Harry is an accidental part-time cheesemonger, Draco is an organic farmer and they fall in love. Not an AU.

🥘 Salt and Sauce by onbeinganangel (T, 3k)

Sure, of course he knows how you take your tea. But does he know your chippy order?

🥘 Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (G, 4k)

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

🥘 Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (E, 11k)

In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.

🥘 Harry Potter and the Showstopper of Doom by @doubleappled (M, 11k)

In which Harry’s an amateur baker, Draco wants him to go on the Great British Bake-Off, Petunia never misses an episode, Sue is a witch, Paul Hollywood is Paul Hollywood, and everyone eats a lot — like a whole lot — of baked goods.

🥘 Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 13k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

🥘 Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic (M, 15k)

“Hello, Harry,” Draco said. He was wearing a black turtleneck under a long grey overcoat, and he was already flushed with sweat. His hair was tied into a knot; it was longer than I remembered. He was older than I remembered. There were lines around his eyes, and I wondered if they were from laughing or frowning. “Hello,” I managed. “You must be with the British Ministry?’ He nodded. I thought I might faint.

🥘 Bridges by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 16k)

Harry and Draco are on a trip to Budapest to help with Kingsley's re-election, but that's the boring bit. More interesting: Harry Potter is changing his Tinder preferences to include men. Also interesting: Harry's spending more time with Draco Malfoy than he ever has, wandering around the city. And Harry doesn't hate it. The city's pretty gorgeous too.

🥘 Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (M, 17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

🥘 Preserving Lemons by @saintgarbanzo, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 17k)

Harry is cooking food he couldn't care less about; Draco is making art he couldn't care more about. A story about kebabs, miniskirts and the way preservation can transform a lemon.

🥘 Passion Cake by @icmezzo (T, 19k)

It’s all about desire. (Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, and from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. Also, will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is?)

🥘 Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

🥘 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

🥘 Make This Leap by @oflights (M, 118k)

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Every Rose Has Its Sword

Author: wylf_storm

Artist: whichstiel

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentioned Sam/Eileen, implied Michael/Adam

Length: 45000

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Temporary Imprisonment, Kidnapping,

Tags: Alternate Universe - Magic, Fae & Fairies, Mentions of Myth and Folklore, Inspired by Tam Lin, Human Castiel, Fey Dean Winchester, Shapeshifting, Bottom Dean Winchester, Swords, Witch Rowena MacLeod

Posting Date: October 29, 2024

Summary: Tired of living in the shadow of an old family misfortune, when Castiel Novak inherits an ancient plot of land in Scotland from his uncle, he leaps at the chance to move as far away from his past as possible. The place is charming, even if it has quirks, but best of all, nobody knows anything about him. It’s... mostly perfect. The only snag is the patch of woods on the land and the strange way nobody will talk about them. When spite leads Castiel into the Aikenwood despite being warned away from it, the very last thing he expects to find there is a knight named Dean in a grove full of roses. He’s handsome even if he’s also irritating, and despite himself, Cas is oddly charmed by Dean and the rose he receives from him. He finds himself drawn back to the wood again and again, but there are stranger powers at work than just a knight. A little digging reveals that most who enter the Aikenwood don’t come out again, Cas isn’t the only visitor to the bower, and Dean isn’t all he appears to be. With their lives and feelings tangling like vines, Castiel soon finds his past catching up and must do everything he can to save Dean from an impossible fate at the hands of a familiar face. But the truth has both roses and thorns, and Cas isn’t sure which he’s going to find if he succeeds…

Excerpt: One rose caught his eye – full bodied where the others were single blooms, a darker shade of ruby where the others were simply red. He moved towards it, fascinated by its daring to be different from every other bloom. It was soft to the touch. Castiel fumbled for his pocket knife while following its thornless stem with one hand and, leaving ample room for him to hold on to, carefully cut it free from the main stem. It came away cleanly and he bent his head down to see if it had a scent.  “Do you always cut flowers without permission or is this a special case?”  Castiel was so startled he dropped the rose. He fumbled to catch it but there was nothing there; just a faint roaring sound like a strong wind through the trees. He turned towards the voice.  A man in a white shirt with laces at the neck stood a short distance away, looking pointedly between the rose he was holding and Castiel. How the man had appeared without him noticing Castiel had little clue, but it was no doubt thanks to his attention being focused on the rose while the moss muffled the man’s approach. He didn’t recall noticing the man catch the rose before it touched the ground, either, but he wasn’t entirely sure that could be attributed to the moss. The man must have taken advantage of Castiel’s surprise to move. His arms were folded across his chest in a disapproving gesture, but his face showed only mild amusement and no trace of anger. From the way it made the hunter green of his eyes glitter, Castiel couldn’t help but think that amusement suited him very well.  “Not only stealing my flowers, but trespassing and disrespecting my property too?” The man said, stepping closer. If he’d held his hand out Castiel could have taken the rose right from him. “That’s three strikes against you already. Gotta be some kind of record, don’t you think?” He unfolded his arms and spun the rose slowly between his fingertips. “Truth be told, thief, I’ve never met someone brave enough to stick around after committing their crime.” The man cocked his head slightly to one side and the smile that had been playing around the corners of his mouth decided to make itself known. He tutted. “No… brave isn’t the right word. I think stupid is more fitting.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[darth-memes]

I really mean it. Don't trust any review that you see online about anything Star Wars. Specially the Acolyte and the latest series. You would be surprised how many are made in bad faith, and with the Acolyte they have multiplied. Talk to your friends that have actually watched it and talk about it in a reasonable way. It's ok if you don't like the series or decide is not your thing, as someone who has really liked it, I know that it's far from perfect. Don't engage with reviews online unless you really really trust the person, because many are made with bad faith and/or nostalgia-tinted glasses that honestly make people forget how the original trilogy really is. It's the reason I stopped reading or watching ANYTHING resembling a review related to Star Wars because it is surprising how easy it turns into a toxic rant that many times can be boilt down into racism and misoginy.

Honestly, even avoiding all of that, with the Acolyte I almost burnt out of the fandom of how terrible it was. I luckily didn't received any hate myself but I have a friend who posts information and fun facts between other things (doesn't do reviews, or opinions, it's mostly all factual(if you have an instagram follow him in @skynobi_starwars, he is always on top of the latest news and posts frequently but without spaming)) on instagram and he was showing me the amount of comments just spewing hate whenever he posted anything about the series and it was disgusting. He said that there had always been some, but they had basically multiplied.

But that's his situation, mine was in real life. I have a coworker who also loves Star Wars and his mask fell off when on episode 3 the wItches showed up and suddenly all of his critiques were about the amount of black people and lesbians that were there. By the next episode everything was just shit and how they should fire the entire team. Basically screaming and being impossible to talk to. Which honestly made me really sad because he had always been a person with who I could talk to about anything Star Wars related. Worst of all, a younger coworker who was wondering if to watch the series entered into watching "reviews" that were outright lying about what happened in the episodes or of people that straight up didn't watch it. He showed me a few and they were all the same. I had to spend a good while proving to him how the series was review bombed even before starting and just proving almost every lie those people were telling and how most of it. It was exhausting and terrifying, I was also really worried because this coworker is very young and what he showed me bordered some alt-right beliefs that should be near NOBODY. And, holy shit, was this a slide to the far right pipeline.

The only reason I didn't burn out is because I have a trusted group of friends with whom I could comment the episodes and have fun making jokes about it. Curiously, my dad also watched it and enjoyed it. But that's basically that's all I had to reduce my feedback of Star Wars for WEEKS to not burn out with how everything was going both online and real life.

And I know that there's a lot of toxic parts of the Star Wars fandom. My recommendation is not engage with any of the big names in the fandom (you know who I am referring to, specially in Youtube). Again, it's not that you cannot be critical, there is a lot to be critical in Star Wars, there is also much that one may dislike, but there is a line. And a lot of people that called themselves reviewers crossed and are so far away in their delusion of how anything that Disney does becomes an attack against them that they will never be able to enjoy the saga again. But raging like that will just result in another Rise of Skywalker, not another Empire Strikes Back.

Instead, look for friends with who you enjoy talking about Star Wars and have fun watching, playing, reading, etc with the saga. Because at the end of the day that's what we want, to have fun with it and enjoy the journey. Sometimes it may disappoint, but if you are always looking for that like a big part of the fandom that posts online, you are never going to enjoy it again.

And isn't Star Wars better when you focus on what makes you happy about it than on what you didn't like?

(Also, again, watch out for the people who are being racist, mysoginistic, homophobic... I can't emphasize how even I, that I try to curate as much as I can my experience in the fandom, I found them fast this time)

[fras-redacted-shapes]

Early drafts/unused content in other languages

redditor AloysHellsalem posted about certain text strings that exist in localized files but are missing from English ones. So I took a look at the Spanish string table and tried translating them - these are machine translations, so they are bad and also funny (sometimes).

All of these seem to be some sort of very, very early draft given the number at the end of the speaker's name and because they don't even have corresponding text-to-speech files unlike files from demos/proof of concept.

More of a fun thing than anything else.

Most of them are from Saga's side of the story.

AMBIENT DIALOGUE - RETURN 2

CASEY_4585: I found more of those knit ornaments near [Witch’s] Ladle. The cult has been around here. SAGA_4586: Do you think they’re the ones behind all this? Dead people coming back to life certainly sounds like cult material. CASEY_4587: It feels like they’re connected. We need more evidence. CASEY_4588: Do you really think a ritual will do something? SAGA_4589: My rational brain says no, but maybe it’s time I leave it on the backseat. CASEY_4590: I’ve certainly had cases that made sanity look like a sick joke. SAGA_4591: I can’t believe you knew what Ikea was. CASEY_4592: What? A guy like me can’t have affordable furniture?

Original text:

PROFILING CASEY - RETURN 6

SAGA_4984: What’s happening to Casey? CASEY_4985: I can’t turn into one of them. I won’t. Fuck it. I’ll go to hell before I turn into one of those soulless demons. CASEY_4986: Well, I guess that’s literally what they are: demons.

That last sentence may be a weird translation on my part. I'm not sure how to make it make sense.

Original text:

Leaving the full string here, Saga profiling Casey about him feeling like a fictional character?:

MP_RE06_CASEY_FICTIONAL_SAGA_4987: being a fictional character. MP_RE06_CASEY_FICTIONAL_CASEY_4988: Was I even who I thought I was, or just an average detective torn from the pages of a bunch of mediocre crime novels? Did I exist in printing ink like I did in real life?, and vice versa? The thought always bothered me. The jokes. The similarities. The constant feeling that no amount of coffee could drown.

Original text:

There're lines that look like bullet points or just rough ideas, like the last one here:

SAGA_6910: What’s happening to Casey? CASEY_6911: Casey is turning into a taken, blame Alan Wake for it WAKE_SAGA_6912: Wake WAKE_CASEY_6913: Casey never liked Wake, even before all this. References to cult case in New York

Original text:

PROFILING ESTEVEZ RETURN 6

This looks like a very early draft of Kiran having a girl crush deputizing Saga into the FBC.

SAGA_4989: The FBC. ESTEVEZ_4990: Saga Anderson, she’d be a great FBC agent. She clearly has what it takes: wit, guts and drive. And she’s not backing down from a paranatural fight. I can appreciate that. ESTEVEZ_4991: I should give her the recruitment (draft?) pitch. She’d be a great asset. SAGA_4992: I guess I should be flattered.

Original text:

SAGA_4993: What’s this “AWE”? ESTEVEZ_4994: What reactivated the AWE in Bright Falls? Does the threshold below the lake work in cycles or does it have a trigger? ESTEVEZ_4995: Whatever it is, it seemed more powerful than ever. SAGA_4996: The “threshold” in Cauldron Lake. That’s where I have to go.

Original text:

The following one is nearly incomprehensible

SAGA_6914: Parautilitarians ESTEVEZ_6915: Estevez relives a trauma, says the area of parautilitarians susceptible to supernatural forces (???)

SAGA_6916: doesn’t wake up ESTEVEZ_6917: They told Estevez the Dark Presence can steal forms, making it difficult to know who to trust SAGA_6918: Dark Place ESTEVEZ_6919: Estevez doesn’t know much, other than those who go there generally don’t come back.

PROFILING TOR AND ODIN - RETURN 5

Lots of fun tidbits

SAGA_3003: Where is Tor? TOR_3004:... Polaris ... in a web of hypocrisy. ODIN_3005: Take ... Control. duh duh duhuhuh. Take ... Control ... TOR_3006: Take ... Control. duh duh duhuhuh. Take ... Control …

SAGA_3012: The girl in the painting. ODIN_3013: I won’t remove it. That’s our family. Your (his?) daughter. TOR_3014: She left us! She took Saga and fucked off! So take that damn thing! I don’t wanna see her face!

MP_RE05_TOR_MOTHER_SAGA_3069: My mother. TOR_3070: But I wasn’t made to be a dad. I’m a god of rock! I can take the sky, rock stadiums but can’t change a diaper! TOR_3071: My life is a fucking storm. Freya deserved better. TOR_3072: It broke my heart, but I was proud of her for leaving. She could take care of herself. And her little girl. Saga will be a fucking star. I saw it the day she was born.

SAGA_3074: My dad. TOR_3075: …If she goes with you, she can never come back! It’s a one way trip for her. And I’m not letting a punk take me (?)! UNKNOWN_3076: (STATIC) TOR_3077: Freya isn’t ready for a nursing home. We kept it hidden for a reason! If you try this, I’ll hit you so hard with my hammer there won’t be any door left to open!

PROFILING TOR AND ODIN - RETURN 9

Now, these are super interesting :)

SAGA_5287: Mr. Door. TOR_5288: Freya couldn’t trust that bastard! He wouldn’t have stayed anyways! It’s not in his nature! We had to go! ROSE_5289: Tor, you’re scaring the other residents. I need you to put down that hammer. TOR_5290: A father needs to protect his kids, dammit! The door is a fucking spider and I’ll be damned if I was going to let my little girl get caught on its fucking web.

MP_RE09_ODIN_01_DOOR_SAGA_5293: Mr Door. ODIN_5294: I just can’t let you play with her heart. It’s nothing personal. DOOR_5295: Do you realize Freya will never forgive either of you for this? ODIN_5296: You’re not wrong, but… neither is my brother. Today you’re here, you’re Martin’s door, but eventually you’ll leave it behind and she won’t know why. Better she hate us than she hates herself. DOOR_5297: Then let’s see what you and your drunk brother can do.

Weird translation that last one.

The text for "I can't let you play with her heart" can be translated more literally to "I simply can't make you play with her heart." Which doesn't make sense, at least not without more context.

The line about Martin was probably meant to say "You're Martin Door".

There're a few other tidbits but none as interesting (in my opinion) as these ones.

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Five - No Plan

knight!Benjicot x princess!reader

word count: 3k

a/n: do you guys enjoy reading from benji’s perspective?

song: No Plan - Hozier

You won’t look at him.

It’s quite seriously driving him insane.

He knows he’s overstepped, broken his oath in some ways even.

He is sworn to you, of course, to serve and protect nobody but you, but he is part of a system, a machinery of knights and guards, who, at all cost, must report back to the king.

He wasn’t ever going to snitch on you. But maybe he should have put his foot down.

Were any of the happenings of the past few weeks to come to light, he is almost certain that he will lose his head for it. Or they’d find some other creative way to rid themselves of him.

Had he been stricter upon finding out about your meddling in the arts of healing, perhaps you had never gathered the guts to sneak out by yourself, you’d have never found yourself in the hands of some lowlife scumbag and he wouldn’t know how well you fit into his arm curled around your back.

Then you might still be speaking to him.

Well, you had spoken to him. An hour into your carriage ride you had leaned out the window to tell him to have Fury saddled, already tired of being confined.

Throughout everything, he kept feeling an overwhelmingly deep rooted sense of pity.

He gazes up at the sky, grey clouds gathered above, knit together so tight you couldn’t see the blue hiding behind.

He doesn’t remember the last time he had pitied somebody so much.

Of course, he felt bad for the impoverished, the sick, the depraved. But this was almost sickening; his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways, each time he thought about your fate.

A girl like you is rare to come by in the place you had grown up in. He does not understand how you could even exist, an enigma, given the people you had been around your life. Though your sister and brother were respectable for the most part, there was something innately warm about you.

As he contemplates he almost resents you again, like he had in the beginning of his knighthood.

How could you be so good?

It is frustrating really, to be around you and watch the way people bend to fit around you, to feel your presence and grasp your attention.

At first he had assumed it to be your status, that got everyone so riled up, but he understood rather soon that, that isn’t the case.

People tried to approach Prince Tristan and Queen Cordelia as well, but around you it seems to be something more honest.

He thinks about your handmaiden and you, the way the two of you giggle each time you are together, the way the cook without request organises your favourite pastries for you.

For fuck’s sake even young children and animals were drawn to you like a moth to the light, despite not having the slightest comprehension of who you are and what importance you held.

Your dumb horse damn near tries to kill anyone that nears it besides you.

It is ridiculous really.

Yes, ridiculous.

He doesn’t understand it.

From now on he would not fall for this anymore.

Benji is a strong soldier. He’s killed. He’s hurt. He’s bled. He would not fall for something as silly as that girlish charm you had. One might think you are actually a witch, with the way you mesmerised the people.

He glances at you in front of him, back straight as a board. There’s a shiver to your unnatural posture.

“Your highness?”, he calls out and he almost can’t believe his own hypocrisy.

“Yes, Ser Benjicot?” You don’t turn around to face him, so he forces his horse alongside yours.

Suddenly he feels silly, back to being a young boy. Or a dog that can’t help but return to its owner. “Are you cold, princess?”

You don’t even spare a second to look at him. “I am quite alright, do not fret.” You’re cold. Closer now, he can see the goosebumps that trail your arms through the translucent fabric of your sleeves.

You’re almost dressed for a funeral, your gown a deep shade of purple.

The king had frowned at you that morning, Benji had seen the way his thick brows had pulled together, lips pulled into something reminiscent of a pout.

He himself was more so wondering how you had managed to get on your horse with the ten thousand layers of tulle and frilliness you were heaving around.

“Do you not wish for a cloak? If you were to get sick you would need to return to travel by carriage,” Benji finds himself warning you.

That does trigger a reaction in you; a deep sigh. “Fine then,” you mumble.

Benji doesn’t like this. He can’t help but feel responsible, the events of last night must be heavy on your mind.

It was all confusing and annoying to him. Nobody had told you to leave the castle, least of all him, but still he faults himself for not having been there sooner.

You had your troubles but you had never been confronted with men who’s inappropriate fantasies aren’t confined by the code of conduct at court.

It doesn’t take long for somebody to appear with your cloak.

With all the fabric it almost looks as though your horse is the one wearing the clothes.

For a few more wholly uncomfortable moments of silence Benji trots along your side, until he decides that it’s likely best to give you time.

Your journey goes on until shortly before sunset. There are still two days worth of travel ahead of you and so one of the guards rides ahead into town and organises a stay for the night.

Benji could see the exhaustion in your face as you’re helped off your horse, wincing and stretching without much decorum.

The servant who helped you looks away in uncertainty. His cheeks are flushed. Benji wants to roll his eyes.

The inn is surprisingly nice; one of the two kingsguard members with you informs him that it is because a lot of merchants pass through this town when travelling to the capital.

You are smiling at everyone, saccharine sweet and Benji wished he didn’t notice the way you are twisting the ring on your finger nervously.

As it seems, spending almost every single waking moment with you for the last cycle of the moon, does take its toll.

Without much ceremony you leave supper early and excuse yourself to your bedroom, your new handmaiden close behind.

She’s a nervous little thing, a mouse-like girl, much younger than Marion and entirely overwhelmed by your presence it seems.

Benji hasn’t heard her say anything yet that wasn’t some variation of an apology.

It is terrifying to be responsible for a princess.

He should know.

He takes a gulp from the beer in front of him.

Ser Corrigan taps his fingers against the table, only remotely in sync with the fiddler in the corner of the room.

“D’you think she’ll be well with that Baron?,” he pipes up.

Benji doesn’t register that he’s being spoken to for a few moments.

“Don’t know. But if he takes after his sister, I should have serious doubts that they will get along,” he answers.

Corrigan nods to himself.

The fiddler plays an old ballad, one of a kind queen long dead, the fire crackles in the room and the night crawls on.

Benji is not on watch duty, so he allows himself more of the not-good-yet-not-bad beer they serve here before he heads upstairs as well.

It is long past midnight by now and it suddenly strikes him that he should have spoken with Ser Corrigan.

He has no friends here.

His room is at the highest floor of the building, guards stood at the top of the stairs.

You are right across from him. The only two people that are to sleep here.

His eyes linger on your door and his fingers itch to knock and ask about your wellbeing but he doesn’t.

He cannot find rest. Of course not.

The last few weeks catch up with him, ghosts that had constantly been in his periphery and have finally clawed their way into his mind.

His uncle sending him away.

The isolation inside the castle.

You.

He tosses and turns, yearning for comfort.

He won’t find it in here and so he decides perhaps fresh air might help him.

He slips out of his room and realises he isn’t wearing his boots.

Then he hears it.

Distant, through the thick of the oak door, he hears your sobs.

He knows he can’t ignore it, even though he lingers for a moment.

He throws one glance at the guards at the end of the hallway, neither of them having noticed him.

Benji steps as lightly as he can across the wooden floor and without so much as the thought of a squeak he slips into your bedroom.

Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot when you look at him, mouth dropped into surprised ‘O’.

Neither you nor him speak until you do at the same time.

“Are you–”, Benji asks.

“I didn’t mean to-” you interrupt.

Silence again. Benji waves his hand for you to go first.

“I didn’t mean to be loud,” you whisper. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He hums in agreement. “Neither could I.” He leans against the door. “And you weren’t loud.”

You’re sitting at the foot of the bed, your hair and robe both somewhat disorderly. “My apologies. For scaring you last night.”

His arms cross and uncross again when he thinks that he might intimidate you like that. “Don’t worry.”

“Benji?”

The name sounds so different when you say it. It rolls off your tongue like river-tumbled pebbles through a creek. A sweet and calming sound.

“Yes, princess?”

Your cheeks are reddened again. “Perhaps you could keep me company? I don’t sleep well outside my own room.”

You look so young like this, he thinks to himself. A vulnerable doe-eyed girl. To be married soon.

What was to happen to you, with your unbelievable innocence? That you should invite a man into your chambers after last night, is more than naive.

He remains where he stands.

“Please?”

How can he refuse you?

You shuffle to sit with your back to the wall, beckoning him to take a seat next to you and he complies.

He struggles to comprehend his innate urge to be useful to you.

“Do you think I’ll find some common ground with him?”, you ask.

Benji sighs. “I’ve not met somebody who doesn’t like you since coming to the capital.”

“You didn’t like me.” You prod at him with one accusing finger.

Your shoulders almost brush when you’re sitting like this, the tiniest sliver of space between them. It feels tantalising.

“That’s an exaggeration. I was merely…,” he trails off. What was he? What is he now?

He watches you shrug. “I do not blame you. It seems I am in a much similar position now. Sent away to a place far from home to spend my days with someone I do not know”

“I told you that there’ll be a way to find some arrangement,” he reminds you. “Mayhaps he’ll not even want you after all.”

You snort. “Did you not just claim the opposite?”

“Well yes, but you know at first glance, perhaps he’ll think you’re too much of a troll.” This is something that once again could cost him his tongue if you were ever to snitch on him, but for now you laugh quietly to yourself.

“Were you always so rude? I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to talk to ladies like this.”

He looks down at his hands, the scars, the rough parts of it. Yesterday evening on the way home he held yours in them and then after you had clicked his nose back into place, such a gruesome and nasty act from your delicate nimble fingers.

He wonders what his mother would think of you.

“Firstly, you are still a witch and not a lady. And no, she didn’t.”

You know, of course, that his mother, much like your own, is six feet under, engulfed by cold wet soil. You know every noble house in the land. Perhaps you know his own house's history better than he does.

You twist to look at him. “What was your mother like? Your parents?” Then you realise the forthrightness of your words and stutter a bit. “I mean- if you should want to tell me.”

He shrugs. “It matters not. We are bound either way.”

That stirs you the wrong way. “I do not want you to do everything just because you feel you must. I told you so.”

Benji chuckles. “You did not. You told me to be civil or be silent, otherwise you’d order me executed.”

Your back straightens. “I was of course not being earnest, Benjicot.” Red spots dot your neck and cheeks, borderline outraged.

“How was I to know? You got so serious on that beach, you little witch, who knows what potion you could mix into my breakfast.”

He had of course not feared for his life. Just his ego.

Benji clears his throat. “My mother was very headstrong. She knew her place in the world and she knew what to do with what she had. She kept my father on his toes. I don’t know if they were a love match but they had their own dynamic. They were most certainly friends.”

You’re smiling a bit now and decide to lean against the headboard again, feet shuffling beneath the blanket.

“She was a bit like your sister, I suppose. They both have a certain quality about them. I think. The memory blurs with each day.”

“Cordelia likes you, I believe. She is quite selective with who she deems respectable.”

“She’s a bit scary.”

You slap his upper arm, your hand lingering there a moment longer than needed. His shirt is made from much less soft fabric than your chemise is and he wonders what you would think about that.

“She isn’t scary, she has been through a lot.”

“Your family seems a bit fucked,” he says before he can stop himself. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Uh- Pardon me, I-”

But you laugh. Loud and clear and Benji wants to remind you of the guards outside but he can’t bring himself to.

Better to see you laugh, even if your cheeks are still puffy from tears shed prior.

“No we are. We are. Maybe if our mother had been with us longer, we might have turned out differently. But Cordelia and Tristan aren’t so bad.”

“Neither are you. It really just is the king that’s making problems.” His head drops a bit. “If anything I’m fucked.”

You tug at his sleeve. “I think you’re alright.”

“I am a liability, you said it yourself. And I did terrible as the head of my house.”

“Yes, because you were a child when your father passed. It was right after your eleventh name day, was it not?”

Benji shrugs. He had failed either way and after three short years, everyone had campaigned for his uncle to take the reins until Benji was of age. And then by the time he was, he didn’t care for it, preferring battle and combat to the rigid authority. And now he is here. In your bed.

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

Your hair is so close. He doesn’t understand how you could always smell so wonderful, even after a day’s worth of travelling. Especially with the heavy layers you wear.

This also bothers him.

It seems everything about you is equally fascinating and bothersome to him.

“Tell me about your home. I’ve rarely travelled to the Riverlands, my father does not enjoy the weather there.”

He bites back the comment about how your father likely doesn’t appreciate the weather because he is too prissy to be rained on.

“It’s wonderful. It’s green as far as the eye can see. I suppose you would enjoy riding your horse there.”

“Tell me something interesting. I know what the land looks like. I want to know what you did there. I want to know what your life was before this. Perhaps I can restore some of it. Maybe even bring your old lover to court.”

You had tried to said it carelessly but the way you stumbled over the word lover gave you away.

He ignores it. “I do not have a girl waiting for me. Matter of fact, I think they’re all glad I’m gone.”

You scoff. “What? What were you doing, you rake.”

He laughs lowly, feels it rumble deep within his chest. “That is not a topic I wish to discuss with someone of your sort.”

“What, a woman? You imbecile, just because-,” you start and he doesn’t need to look this time, he’s certain that the red spots are back on your skin.

Benji cuts you off before you get mad enough to have them spread all over. “No, not a woman. A princess of the realm. The realm’s delight, even. I will not be the one to spoil you, I’m sure Marion already did enough damage.”

“I’m not a child,” you huff. “I’ll be wed sooner than later as it seems, I’ll know either way.”

He shrugs and as he does he suddenly realises your head was resting against his shoulder. Immediately he regrets the movement, tries to bend in a way to return you to your previous position. You fit back perfectly, all the while you’re suppressing a vaguely impolite yawn.

“I won’t do it either way. And I won’t tell you the tales of Bloody Ben either, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he explains. “You were shocked enough by the events in the alley, I do not want your head filled with gruesome images of violent men.”

Your eyelids are drooping. “My god Benjicot, will you just tell a story,” you grumble.

His mind races to find something, some memory of his that he wants to share with you, and finds that there are very few.

He’s never been ashamed of his tendency to brutality and he isn't now. He applies it when needed and fairly so. It really isn’t his fault that so many people wanted to see a glimpse of it, prodding at him with razor-sharp insults to get to him. Especially those god-forsaken Bracken boys.

“I fell from a tree as a little boy,” he says, to his own wonder.

He feels your giggle in his bones. “What?”

“Yes. I climbed it to prove a point to some cousin or something, I don’t remember and I remember thinking that I was falling to my death.”

“Goodness Benji, don’t you have a happier story.”

He shushes you. “Just wait until I get to the good part you impatient witch.”

You resign and he keeps going on about how he had clambered his way up the tree barefoot at seven years old, how that had been the moment he understood that he had a fear of heights and how he spent ten hours in that tree before gathering up the courage to get back down by jumping, so in all honesty he didn’t fall, but he did promptly land upon his sword instructor who at that moment decided that Benji was his most precious diamond in the rough, because what kind of insane person would jump down and from that point on their friendship had bloomed.

Then after that story was done he kept on going.

Takes of his childhood, his friends at home, his visits to tavern which he discreetly censored to not come across as vulgar.

He can’t pinpoint at what moment you fall asleep but soon enough your snores begin to fill the room, your head still propped against his biceps.

He figures he should get up but he really and strongly does not want to do so.

Instead he moves you, carefully, with much more care than his own hands are used to, until you are horizontal.

He almost manages to scrape together enough discipline to leave you, but then you do something…peculiar.

Though sound asleep, your fingers curl around the fabric of his pants next to your hand, like a child grasping its mothers skirt in some odd way.

Benji doesn’t get up.

He doesn’t sleep for a second, instead he remains exactly as he is.

This is fine, he figures. What are knights for if not full-time protection?

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@jhepolie

@knight-of-flowerss

@majoso12

@rebeccawinters

@poppyflower-22

@nixtape-foryou

@accidentpronedork

@xlittlefiend

@vqmpyrecult

@chainsawsangel

@esposadomd

@juhdoche

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey ive never sent a sex witch ask but i just wanna say thankyou for all of this.

as a (probably) asexual teen its really helping me navigate things and see answers to questions i didnt even know i had. so thankyou, i hope you know about all the good youre doing for people like me who're still figuring things out, no matter the age.

and i hope youre having a great day :)

🥹🥹🥹

[vidalswife]

Sitcoms and Sunsets

word count: I.8k

— pairing: agatha harkness / wanda maximoff, post wandavision, pre aaa.

Summary: Its been months since Wanda Maximoff defeated Agatha Harkness in Westview and left her powerlessly trapped in a fake persona. What happens when the brunette witch somehow escapes, finding Wanda in her seclusion. An even bigger question, will Wanda team up with her to accomplish the end to Agatha's plan, and if so, what will happen as the two get closer?

author's note: this chapter does not contain any pg13+ material. however in the future of the story, there will be mature themes, so if you are a minor i advise you not to interact. on another note, i wrote this beginning to a fanfiction while waiting for agatha's spinoff to release. it will not be based on the show, but possibly could have elements of it! and in order not to spoil the plot i will leave it at that. <3

The redhead smiled at the knock on her door, expecting a hiker or a mountaineer to be waiting for her, she called out a quick "I’ll be right there", rushing to grab the refreshments she typically offered to those passing by.

Ever since she left Westview, since defeating Agatha, she’d been in the mountains of Slovakia. A small cabin was all she needed, it had a room, a kitchen, a small area with couches. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. She crafted it on her own. She had finally reached the full potential of her power, at least she thought she did, and she used it to start anew. She did not want to be found, and she didn’t need anyone, but still, when hikers or tourists came around, she enjoyed the company. She would bake them pastries and bread every now and then. Agatha taught her to bake, but then again, Agatha taught her a lot.

When Wanda was growing up, she didn’t learn to bake or cook, but the witch she left behind in Westview taught her so many lessons about living in a mortal world. She’d hated her, for the most part, but there were so many things in her new life she had to credit to the brunette with mad curls.

As she placed the bowl of freshly baked bread upon the table, and the lemonade in a pitcher to the side, she checked her hair in the mirror planted on the wall, when she was satisfied, she opened the door.

And with a sudden flush, in the very instant, her heart sank, and she slammed the door.

_________________

It couldn’t be happening, I mean Wanda knew she couldn’t play keep-away forever with the other woman, but it sure as hell seemed like the best temporary option.

She turned with her back against the door, closing her eyes and exhaling a stress filled sigh.

”Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” said 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 voice. Even though there was no mistaking who owned the captivating tone, Wanda wished that when she opened her eyes, she would wake up, and she would somehow be in a dream.

But alas, when she did open her eyes, reality hit the redhead like a semi-truck.

Standing in front of her was Agatha Harkness, the now powerless, crazy, curly haired raveness. The ‘evil’ witch she had defeated some time ago.

Wanda instantly resorted to using her magic, sending magical cuffs around the woman’s wrists, to which Agatha simply chuckled, “I’m starting to get the notion this wasn’t as pleasant of a surprise as i had hoped.”

”Oh, really? You think so?” spat the ginger, a soft hand now palming her forehead. She figured the witch would return one day, rise again and try to get her powers back. However she never figured it would happen only months later. She may have been the most powerful being to exist, but there was no doubting the strength of the other witch in the room, or anyone she could have used to free herself.

”Wanda, dear, these cuffs aren’t necessary” she reminded, hinting that she no longer had powers.

Wanda's brow furrowed, her eyes flooding to the sight of the cuffed and powerless brunette in her living area. She wondered about removing restraints, questioned the probability that Agatha knew other ways to harm her, and she figured it was best to keep them.

”Listen doll, I haven't come to harm you, I've come to help you.” she spoke, and Wanda slowly inched closer, tilting her head as her lips parted, in an attempt to suggest something that would not come out. It was like the woman read her mind, one of the powers she had was the ability to manipulate, interact with, and read minds, but that had only been with those in Westview. . and there was no way she had power again.

”How did you know what I was thinking, Agatha?” she said, tone cruel and interrogative. With the settlement of these words, she was inches from the other witch, her expressions clearly showing some form of confusion and anger combined. Agatha loved playing with the gingerette’s mind. It was almost an impossible thing to avoid.

”Wanda Wanda Wanda” she spoke, a long pause shadowing the calling of the woman's name. Wanda noticed how intently the witch was watching her, observing her, studying her. With a smooth and subtle smirk, she began to speak again, “You can’t ever make things easy for yourself, can you?” Agatha slowly began to move, raising her hands from behind her back, which were free from wanda’s cuffs, almost as if they had never existed.

Wanda stood lifeless, frozen and in shock. Slowly she began backing away, realizing that this meant 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨.

”How did you–” she was cut off by a hand raising, a dim and small light of purple emerging from tan fingertips. Agatha whispered an incantation, flicked her wrist, and Wanda was forced upon the door, unable to move.

The witch inched closer, smirking at the woman’s confused look. “You're so. . dull. thinking you could take away 𝘢𝘭𝘭 of my power, and keep me trapped in your silly little persona?” she chuckled, “It took less than a week for me to break the curse you put on me, less than a month to gain some of what I lost. . I could’ve killed you, you know. I've been watching you, Wanda.” The redhead shivered at the thought of just dying, no warning, to the hands of Agatha Harkness, albeit. It made her think of Pietro, how he was dead, and never coming back.

”Oh, but don’t worry, I have bigger plans for you” she spoke, closer to wanda than ever before. Wanda had conflicting feelings towards Agatha. They had shared a friendship, of course, when Agatha was Agnes, and Wanda was “evil”. No matter the details, the two witches had built a rapport with one another. An unspoken understanding was present, so Wanda believed her when she said she wasn’t 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 planning to kill her.

”If you really want to help, with whatever twisted, fucked up idea you have of what I ‘need’, let me out of this hold.” Wanda shot a smile at the brunette, and Agatha simply tilted her head in consideration, before repeating another incantation.

The binding yet blinded force was now constructing her body, pressuring her more into the door. She yelped, wincing at the pain. Part of her wanted to use her magic, but she had learned it would do no good the last time she tried.

Agatha had a devilish smile on her lips, one that Wanda knew too well.

“Please” she winced. The older woman only chuckled mischievously, before flinging her wrist left.

As the redhead felt the force upon her body release, she sighed. Part of her wanted to run up and punch the other witch, mainly for imposing on her life so soon into her newly found peace (for the most part). Wanda instead shot an angry look at the brunette, and Agatha replied with an obvious smirk and a raise of her eyebrows.

”I'm sorry to have wasted you a trip, but I don’t want any help from 𝙮𝙤𝙪, and I never will” she remarked, walking away from the essence of the woman, to her kitchen counter. She grabbed a pitcher out of the fridge, pouring a glass of cold water. It was risky turning her back on such a powerful person, especially after refusing an offer, but there was some form of trust she felt, something unexplainable that she only felt with her.

It was quiet for a moment, until finally she heard the heels softly embracing the wood floor.

click.. click.. click.. click.

They stopped, and Wanda dismissed the notion of turning around. She could hear the smooth breaths Agatha took, so close. Wanda's hand clutched her glass, she planted the other on the counter.

Agatha's arms went past Wanda's waist, and she laid her hands over both of Wanda's. The younger woman reveled in the touch, it was the only human contact besides that of talking that she’d had in months. Agatha's body was pressing into her back, and she sighed into the touch. Her awareness of the situation only grew as she felt the woman’s lips brush along the skin of her neck.

The scarlet witch had always felt.. something when it came to her mentor. Her feelings about the woman were uncharted and complicated. She felt both comfort and edge, like she was safe but not secure. And to have her hands on her own, even if not interlinked, it got Wanda’s mind racing, as well as her heart. Heat flushed to her cheeks as she realized that the raveness could probably hear her heart beating.

”𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧” Agatha whispered, her voice husky and low. Her lips were close to the redhead’s ears, and a soft moan escaped Wanda's lips. She felt so many things, so much confusion at why the things Agatha said made her want to lean into the woman and let her take control. Whatever great things the brunette had in mind were probably wicked. . but when Wanda turned her head and looked into those brown eyes, she couldn’t say no. She tried, opening her mouth to refuse and tell her to leave, but nothing came from her lips.

This made a smirk run onto Agatha’s face, and she held the eye contact that the redhead initiated. At the notice of the woman's still hanging lip, she softly inched her own lips closer.

The witch had always intimidated those around her, and it was no different with Wanda, except the contact was far more intense, and almost like a battle for dominance. Agatha’s lips brushed against the gingerette's, and Wanda’s head tilted to the side, if they were to kiss, the angle would be perfect. Wanda wanted that, she desired it as she desired the air in her lungs. She closed her eyes, waiting for the embrace, when Agatha softly hummed. The brunette pulled her lips away, and found the dip in Wanda’s neck. A soft, but hot kiss was planted on her neck, and the younger woman’s head leaned back. With a smirk, Agatha took the glass from Wanda's hand, and backed away from the woman.

She took a sip from the glass, winking at her ginger witch.

”Don’t be a fool, Wanda” She playfully remarked, setting down the glass beside the redhead, and retreating from the woman.

Wanda had never been so confused, yet had so much clarity in her life. She didn't want to let Agatha stay, or help with whatever she desired, but those lips, those hands, that voice.. they clouded every piece of rationale in her.

Come tomorrow morning, Wanda Maximoff would team up with Agatha Harkness, and no one would know about the moment they had shared that night.

[dendrobium-writes]

"It does not snow anymore."

Executor 1 shifted to face the other occupant of the room, filling the air with a strained creak from her chair. The previous fifteen minutes of silence left her unprepared for the sudden vocalization.

"What?" She asked. This was... Different. One's never spoken to her before.

"It is nearly the end of winter." The doll answered. "There has not been any snow." It clarified.

Executor 1 pondered this for a moment. Practically, she understood why that was the case. With the growing intensity of fighting on the surface, orbital weapons platforms saw more and more use.

As a result, the planet was getting hotter.

But before she could form a reply, the soft voice hit her aural implants again.

"This one likes the snow." It spoke, turning to face her. Its orange eyes fixed themselves on hers. "Do you?"

She stared back into the doll's eyes. Her facial analysis software couldn't make heads or tails of what might have been written on its face.

"I think so." Executor 1 hedged. She tried to recall the last time she had seen snow. Vague visions of white flecks in the sky, a girl smiling beside her. The warm clutch of another's hand in hers.

The feeling of lips pressed together.

"Do you? Or do you not?" It reasserted its question, snapping her back to the present.

"I d--" she began, before being cut off by a third voice. Another figure had snuck into the room. It was impossible to conceive how they could have snuck in, wearing such a gaudy uniform and large hat.

"Citrus, leave the woman alone. I'm sure she's tired."

The doll snapped to attention, seemingly losing all interest in Executor 1. "At once, my lady." It said, standing and moving to join its witch's side.

"Oh, it wasn't a bother at all, lady..." Executor 1 trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the witch.

"Juliana." She finished. "But you are to address me by my rank, pilot." She nearly spat out the word.

"My sincerest apologies, Major." The pilot drawled after peeking at her insignia.

The Major sneered and turned to leave, seemingly only here to retrieve her doll.

"Citrus?" Executor 1 called.

The doll turned to face her as the witch strode on.

"I enjoyed our little talk. Maybe we'll have longer next time." She said with an earnest smile.

The doll's face lit up. "Yes! I hope so!" It beamed.

"Citrus, now!" Juliana called, annoyance echoing down the corridor.

Executor 1 waved goodbye.

Citrus waved back, turning to catch up with its witch.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Quick Spencer Blurb <3

tw: teasing, nausea

wc: 400 (ish)

The train takes way too long.

This was the first of many reasons why Spencer hated them.

They smelled weird.

People would loudly talk on their phones.

The bathrooms were too small.

Children got bored and loud, running around on the train.

But the worst part about the train was the motion sickness.

It was written all over his face, which he had just assumed was green since he had been nauseous for about a full hour now.

The train made its final local stop before it raced across the Plains to it's final destination; nothing but grains and the occasional tree passing by.

Reid felt some relief when the train was stopped, but it was brief since a toddler that had just been dragged on by his mother started screaming about not wanting to be on said train.

It's not that he wasn't sympathetic to the toddler's yells. In fact, he agreed with them. But the screaming was not helping his headache.

His headache was almost worse company than that of Derek Morgan, who had just noticed how green his companion was looking.

“You look like shit man.”

Reid rolled his eyes. “Thanks.” He grumbled.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don't projectile all over me.”

Spencer wished Morgan would be a little quieter, and would just go back to watching whatever was on his phone.

Just then, you sat down on the opposite side of the aisle.

Spencer looked across and gave you a weak smile, which caused your light demeanor to shift.

"Reid...you okay?"

"Y-yeah."

You rolled your eyes and pulled a pack of gum out of your bag and held it out to him.

His stomach lurched and his eyes closed as the train started started to move again.

"I find that chewing gum helps me with the motion sickness."

Reid stammered out a thank you, but didn't take a piece.

You just left the pack on the tray table in front of him, popping a piece in her own mouth, before sitting back fully in your seat.

You loved trains, not for how annoying certain patrons could be, nor for their obnoxious smells, but simply for the views. It was gorgeous watching the country speed by.

Spencer had never been one to like gum--majority of the people he had been around, who chew gum, simply did not know how to chew with their mouths closed.

He trusted you though, so maybe he'd try a piece.

After popping a piece in his mouth, Spencer surely thought you were a witch since almost all of the nausea he had been feeling was starting to disappear.

Trident had never tasted so good in his entire life.