#edit: went back and changed a few tiny things

[hi18364]

In the blink of an eye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#women’s football #women’s soccer #women’s super league #woso community #woso imagine #wsl #barclays wsl #georgia stanway #beth mead #viv miedema #vivianne miedema #leah williamson #katie mccabe #caitlin foord #steph catley #kim little #woso soccer #arsenal

[twisted-lover-boys]

Hey, hello! I have one tiny request, hehe. In this request will be Jack, Sebek, Trey, Floyd, Jade. They will react to their partner who's shorter than Riddle but has enough physical powers to lift them. How is that sound? I edited my request so I hope you don't mind if I'll put it into your request box:)

Boyfriend who is small but strong

Let’s goooooooooooo strong but short squad for the win!!!!

{not proof-read}

==================================

♣️🐺🦈🐬⚡️♣️🐺🦈🐬⚡️♣️🐺🦈🐬⚡️♣️🐺🦈🐬⚡️

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Trey always thought that his boyfriend, with how cute and petite he was, was a bit on the meek side. Of course, he never thought less of you because of that

Trey always looked after you. He made sure you ate well, didn’t overwork yourself, and stayed clear of trouble. Of course, he couldn’t always be there for you

And today only proved that fact. He didn’t think you’d get picked on and was more than ready to teach a few out-of-line students a lesson…until he saw you absolutely deck them

From then on, Trey made it a point for you to show off how strong you were. Lifting heavy things around the dorm with ease, showing off your muscles, and even asking you to pick him up if you could (you can)

Trey loves having your help, especially with jobs he couldn’t normally do on his own. He likes that you help carry crates of strawberries he makes or help set up unbirthday parties in your free time

Honestly, Trey probably loves you even more now because he now knows something that many other probably don’t. He’d be a liar if he didn’t think you being strong was hot

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Jack has always been surrounded by people that are much smaller and weaker than him. His boyfriend is no different but he never thought any less of you because of it

Jack always prioritized your safety which usually led to him staying close to you often. He was often teased for being your bodyguard instead of your boyfriend but it didn’t matter much to him

But the one day he wasn’t with you, he heard that you were getting picked on. He immediately rushed to your general direction and was ready to defend you…until he showed up and saw you effortlessly deck them

Honestly, wolf boy is a bit jealous of your strength but nonetheless admires it. Seeing you effortlessly lift up things and people and easily outperforming other students in competitions…oh great seven—

While he could easily do strong tasks by himself, having you accompany and help him makes them easier. Power couple, honestly

Jack learning that you were actually super strong really changed his perception of you, but not his love for you. You’re still his cute & small boyfriend and that’s not changing

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Floyd loves you. Plain and simple. You were so small and meek compared to him but you had confidence of a shark. He’d be a liar if he didn’t say he fell first and fell harder

Of course with you being so small, Floyd had an innate desire to protect you from harm. He was more than happy to spend his days with you while also making sure you stayed away from trouble

But it just had to be an off day for him. Azul just had to make him work. Jade just had to get on his back. When he received word that you were getting picked on, his off day turned into a horrible day. As he rushed off to your location, ready to end this day before crashing away with you, he saw you standing over the unconscious bodies of your bullies

I cannot tell you how this man’s face lit up. You should’ve told him how strong you were! Were you always this strong? Why would you keep this from him?! His day went from being off to horrible to amazing in a few moments

He loves watching do heavy work. He could easily do it as well, but there’s something so hot about watching his small boyfriend lift things twice your size. You make his work days so much more fun

Floyd didn’t love you any more or less after he found out about your secret strength. You’re his boyfriend through and through and nothing’s changing that, no matter what

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Jade is a simple man who likes simple things, with his boyfriend being one of them. Even though you’re significantly shorter than him, your gusto and strong beliefs are what he finds most interesting

However, because of your small size, Jade is concerned that you’ll get hurt so he always makes sure that he’s close or around you in some capacity

But the one day that Azul needed him most was the day that you got picked on. As soon as he heard, he dropped whatever he was doing, rushing over to you. He thought of the many ways he could torture those who hurt you…but when he arrived, you had already done so for him

From then on, Jade never worried about your safety or capability in certain tasks. He knew that you were able to take care of yourself and even enjoyed watching you show off your strength

On that topic, he enjoys your help with the more physically grueling tasks. He could do them himself, but he enjoys having your help. It gives him an excuse to be with you and take just a little bit longer in his tasks

While Jade is happy to have this knowledge about you, his feelings towards you hadn’t changed in the slightest. He loves you so much, no matter how strong you really are

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Although he would never say it outright, Sebek truly believed that his boyfriend couldn’t defend themselves. Of course he loves you with everything he has, but your short statue doesn’t really reassure him about your safety

He was adamant about teaching you defense methods so that you can protect yourself. He knows he can’t be around you all the time, what with his duty to protect Malleus, but he still worries for your safety

When Lilia had forcefully released him of his duties, Sebek immediately went to search for you. He didn’t expect to hear that you were getting picked on. He sprinted over to you, ready to teach those lousy students a lesson…but then you literally one punch man-ed them

Sebek is a mixture of things. He’s shocked, confused, angry, and relieved. Why didn’t you tell him about this massive strength you had?! He could’ve worried less about you and focused more on his duties. Well, at least you’re okay

From then on, he starts to worry about you less as he now knows that you can handle yourself with ease. Watching you test the limits of your strength, whether accidental or purposeful, always seems to motivate him to do better. For his home, his master, and for you

He’s honestly relieved that you know how to handle yourself and while it’s changed his perception of you, it hangs changed his opinion of his feelings. You’re still near and dear to him, no matter how strong or weak you are

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#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst x male reader #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #diasomnia #trey clover #trey clover x male reader #jack howl #jack howl x male reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x male reader #jade leech #jade leech x male reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x male reader

[reallyromealone]

Dadzawa and baby overhaul 2

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐Aizawa and Yamada were thankful it wasn't a school day, Yamada taking an emergency day so the family could get things for little (name).

"Now, what are our thoughts on this?" Yamada asked as they casted their laptop to the livingroom tv, a rainy Sunday meaning they couldn't go out shopping so it was at home shopping.

"I like the one with sheep!" Eri said excited as they looked at sleeper onsies as (name) snuggled in Aizawas arms, little pacifier in his mouth as he lazily watched the screen, enjoying the moving pictures.

(Name) was extremely attached to Aizawa, Eri mentioning how he was only really handled for feedings or changings so he was desperate for contact.

"How about we order some lunch? Then we can move onto furniture" Aizawa said as (name) stretched his little arms up, clearly content in his new dad's arms as the family discussed what they should get for lunch, (name) now sitting up and and bouncing slightly as they spoke.

"What do you think (name)? Western or Japanese food?" Yamada asked the babe, getting close and (name) obviously not understanding what's going on just raised his little arms and reached out to the blond, wanting to be held by him "oh so sweet, western it is!"

The family ordered (fast food) and in the bag Sanza brought was some baby food "let's see..." Shinso said reading the labels and looking a little disgusted at the combinations before spotting a bottle of custard "hey (name)" shinso said cheekily to the baby as everyone ate, (name) sitting his little bum on the carpeted floor.

Aizawa and Yamada were already recording as Shinso got on his stomach and put a baby spoonful to the boys mouth, (name) taking a bite before a shocked expression washed over his face, the boy bouncing slightly and smacking his lips "was that good?" Yamada asked as (name) reached out for the spoon.

"Well at least we know he likes sweets" Shinso said as he let Eri feed the boy a spoonful.

(Name) got five spoonfuls in before he looked like a drunk man on the floor, starfished on the carpet as his dad's took photos.

The day continued, the family ordering baby supplies there were coming the next day and they had called the local furniture store about the possibility of them delivering a baby crib same day, thankfully they didn't have many deliveries so it would be able to come within the next few hours.

(Name) took a nap on the couch as Aizawa and Yamada finished grading papers, the family doing their own thing.

Eri was also taking a small post meal nap as Shinso worked on a project.

"Oh Sho, look" Yamada points to their cats who finally graced them with their presence, the two cats taking note of the tiny baby and the fatter male cat lovingly named "cat" in English flopped beside him and joined in the nap.

The other one went to go eat before sitting on the arm of the couch and watching the tiny baby, leaning over to sniff him.

The two watched as the cats accepted the baby who was fast asleep, kicking his little legs every so often.

When the crib came, the two adults thought it would be best to put it in their room for fast access to the baby if need be, sho laying on the bed with little (name) laying in his chest as Yamada put together the crib.

(Name) stared at Aizawa who stared back, the babe wide eyed before reaching over with his chubby ravioli hands and grabbing Aizawas nose.

Yamazawa family were happy (name) acclimated so well, the boy fitting in like the last piece of the puzzle.

The end of the small vacation would be in a few days and Aizawa already emailed Nedzu about the newest edition.

"ABABABA!" (Name) yelled out at 6am on the dot to his new parents, the little babe making angry baby sounds for food "yeah yeah, I'm coming" Yamada mumbled as he stumbled shirtless to the crib and lifted the boy who snuggled into the warmth of his skin "a hug and a bottle should do you good" he mumbled sleepily as the two went to the kitchen to prepare the little listener a nice meal and some coffee brewing.

"There we go, look at you go" the blond watched tiredly as the babe drank his bottle with only a little assistance from the hero "still can't believe such a little bundle of happiness came from someone so terrible" Yamada mumbled as the babe looked at him with wonder "Eri is really excited to be your big sister, Shinso is even happy about it... You really fit in well"

When (name) finished his bottle, the others trudged out and Aizawa began breakfast as Shinso got himself and his sister some orange juice, the only one happy and awake was little (name) who babbled happily.

The morning was sleepy and calm as Aizawa let the baby try a little miso soup and was pleased at the babes happy reaction.

"His stuffs here" Aizawa said as Shinso took the tiny babe who gently smacked at his face as the adults brought in all the packages "look (name), all for you buddy!" Yamada said sweetly as little Eri helped bring in the obvious clothing packages "there.." "uh dad" Shinso looked at (name) in slight horror as the babe began grunting and looking focused and then a foul smell radiated off the baby.

Freshly changed (name) giggled at Yamadas grossed out face as he threw out the soiled diaper "yeah yeah, very funny" he said teasingly as they opened the packages to figure out what was what, the cats keeping the babe company as they folded all the adorable little clothes for him, the tiny socks and little shirts.

"So when are you guys gonna tell Aunt Nem and Uncle Oboro?" Shinso asked curiously as they cleared out the office that wasn't used much, the heros tending to work in the dining room or keep anything not meant for young eyes at the office.

"When we have him settled, were going to have to bring him tomorrow so they will probably meet him then" Aizawa said simply as he put (name) in a precious kitten onsie and a little cat themed pacifier "look (name)! Toys for you!" Yamada said bringing some freshly cleaned blocks for the babe, a few sound toys to urge him to learn speech.

For now they would just spend time with the tiniest member of the family, putting him in a rolling baby chair as they set stuff up for him.

#male reader #x male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x male reader #aizawa x reader #child male reader #baby reader

[tsukimefuku]

to be loved is to be changed ❖ nanami kento

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

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

wc: 2.9K

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

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

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

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

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

"He's got it under control."

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

And you were completely right.

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

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

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

He had changed, and so had you.

He wasn't that boy that saved you anymore.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

What a ploy.

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

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

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

Changed, but not so much, it seems.

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

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

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

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

"Students, please, welcome your new teacher!"

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

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

"Kelp."

Say what now?

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

Oh, I see.

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

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

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

"I'm Panda," the panda answered.

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

Who the hell knows.

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

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

He turned his blindfold covered-face towards you.

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

Except you had.

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

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

"Hurry, woman!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's you!"

His eyes widened slightly as he said your name.

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

A genuine smile covered your face.

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

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

You sighed.

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

Nanami sighed back.

"I see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes" Nanami acquiesced.

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

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

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

Nanami sighed, yet again.

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

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

"Hey!" Gojo complained.

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

We haven't changed. Have we?

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maki and Nobara stared at you for a moment.

You sighed.

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

Nobara and Maki shared a brief look between them.

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

You looked at her from the reflex on the mirror.

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

"Huh?" You mumbled.

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

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

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

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

Was it the same, though?

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled at him.

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

The faintest hint of a smile covered his face.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you pondered.

"It's not bad, it's just… different."

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

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

You chuckled.

"Yeah, it would."

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

You shrugged.

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

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

To be loved is to be changed.

—

End notes:

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

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

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu fluff #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #kento x reader

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

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

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

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

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

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

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

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

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

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

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same home he stands before now.

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

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

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

He looks at you and nods his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he slams the door shut.

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

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

Still, it hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

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

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

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

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

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

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

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

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

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

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

But it’s been dead quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence follows the unsettling news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

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

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

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

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

Impossible.

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

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

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

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

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

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

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

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

Then, they begin to tighten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or what he thought was Ignis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been a long night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

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

But somehow, they don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ignis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Namjoon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Namjoon.”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t know.”

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

“Namjoon…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon x you #bts namjoon x reader #rm x you #rm x reader #bts rm x reader #namjoon fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts magic au #bts fantasy au #bts witch au

[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! Can you talk about your experience going from Absentia to Oculus? That process after Absentia went on its festival run to pitching Oculus? Would love to learn about that time in your life & career!

I moved to Los Angeles in 2003, right after I graduated college. I went to Towson University in Maryland, was an EMF major (Electronic Media & Film) and had wanted nothing more than to make movies my whole life. We were a comfortable middle class military family (my dad was in the Coast Guard) and for most of my life, making movies for a living felt like an impossible dream.

When I moved to LA I took whatever work I could find. I shot and edited those local car commercials you see on TV at 2am, I was a logger and an AE for reality TV shows, and I eventually worked my way to editing.

I said I'd give myself 5 years to make it in Hollwood. By the time we shot Absentia, I'd been here for 7 years, and in that time I hadn't gotten any closer to my dream.

I've already written at length about how Absentia came along and what it was like to make that little movie, and I've recently blogged about how the Oculus premiere changed my life and birthed my career, so I won't rehash those - but I don't often talk about what went on in between.

I finished editing Absentia just before my oldest son was born in 2010, and went back to working full-time as a reality TV editor. In fact, in the months leading up to his birth, I was working double-time - I spent my days at a company called Film Garden working on a series for DIY Network, and my nights editing packages at Nash Entertainment for those true crime clip shows. Whatever it took to keep the lights on and provide as much support as I could for my son.

While this was happening, I'd submitted Absentia to a pile of film festivals. We didn't get into any of the majors - Sundance, SXSW, and Toronto all passed on the film. Our world premiere was at the Fargo Film Festival, where Tom Brandau, one of my former professors from Towson - and one of my mentors - was teaching.

(Our original festival poster, WAY better than the weird clip art that would come later)

The movie got into a fair amount of film festivals, and we traveled with it as much as we could. I have fond memories of the Phoenix Film Festival, San Luis Obispo (where I met Greg Kinnear at a party and very awkwardly asked for a picture - you can see how thrilled he is about it) and my personal favorite: the Fantastia Film Festival in Montreal.

(At one of the screenings, I believe the San Luis Obispo Film Festival)

While this was happening, the film was picked up for a tiny VOD and DVD release through Phase 4 Films.

They were a Canadian distribution company whose claim to fame was putting out Kevin Smith's Red State under a very unusual distribution model. They acquired the movie, which led to a company holiday part in Hollywood.

There, I briefly met Kevin Smith for the first time. We've met again since, and I've now had a chance to thank him for the kindness he showed me back then - I was just some starstruck kid at a party, but he was gracious and available and inspiring. I really admire the way Kevin deals with his fans, and I've tried to emulate it over the years.

So that was kind of it for Absentia. We went to a few festivals, went to a few parties, and posed for a few pictures with some people we admired. Phase 4 designed some truly godawful cover art, dropped the movie into video stores, and that was that.

($2.99 is a pretty good deal)

So Absentia had pretty much run its course. It had a passionate following of fans, but between the crappy art design and glut of low budget horror films on the market, its moment had already come and gone. I was back at work, editing a series for DIY Network called Extra Yardage, and yearning for another chance to make a movie.

Absentia might not have broken open the industry doors like I'd wanted it to, but one thing it did yield was a meeting with an entertainment attorney named Joel VanderKloot.

I had been represented a few times over the years by various managers (to be honest, they were actually Jeff Howard's managers, and they took me on because we had a co-written project together.) But those relationships hadn't gone anywhere, I'd never sold a script or booked a job, and when I suggested making Absentia they were not supportive ("You've already tried the indie thing, haven't you?") so by the time Absentia was made, I was completely unrepped.

Joel was a family friend of Jason Poh, who was one of our Absentia Kickstarter backers. He was a guy who'd just found the project online and donated a thousand bucks. He kept up with us, and loved the final movie. He told me he knew an entertainment lawyer and offered to arrange a lunch.

I left my editing job at Film Garden for a long lunch and met Joel in Santa Monica (this was a day-killing drive for me). Joel had seen the movie and really liked it. We had a good lunch, but wasn't immediately sure about taking me on - it's a lot of work to take on a new client, and there wasn't much heat on my movie. But there was something there that he liked, and he called later that day to say he would take me on as a client.

I was elated. I felt like I'd made my movie to the best of my ability, and that it had flashed in the pan and then died... no one had noticed outside of a few festival audiences and critics. But here was someone who worked in the industry and he saw something in the film that he believed in.

Joel started looking for managers while I clung to my day job. He passed the movie around and we had a few nibbles, which led to the first manager in my career who wanted to simply represent ME: Nicholas Bogner.

Bogner went about setting general meetings at production companies who specialized in horror films. There weren't a lot of takers, and not everyone was willing to watch an entire feature film in consideration of a general meeting. So it was hit or miss - I was a nobody, after all, and they get these kinds of incoming inquiries all the time.

But there were a few takers. And the very first meeting I had was with Anil Kurian at Intrepid Pictures.

Again, I took an extended lunch from my editing job and drove across town to Intrepid's offices in Santa Monica. I was beyond nervous when I sat in the waiting room. The young man working the front desk signed me in and offered me a water. And then, just before the meeting started, he leaned over and he said "I loved Absentia, by the way."

Anil was a really cool executive and we had a good general meeting. At the end of it, he introduced me to the heads of Intrepid: Marc Evans, and Trevor Macy.

We all ended up in the conference room, where posters for Intrepid's other movies - at that time, The Strangers and The Raven - were hanging. I vividly remember staring at them while I pitched all five of the ideas I had for movies.

One of them was a story about a little boy whose dreams manifested in real life, and another was a take on Stephen King's novel Gerald's Game. But at the time, none of these ideas worked. The meeting was over, and everyone was politely going about their day.

I felt a panic in me. It was my first real meeting, the door had been cracked open just an inch by Absentia, and I was about to walk away with nothing. Would my new manager want to keep me? Would my new lawyer think he was wasting his time?

I stopped in the doorway and turned back. "I've got one other thing," I said. "I made a short years ago about a haunted mirror, and I have a take for a feature."

They kind of laughed at the idea of a haunted mirror. "How do you make that scary?" Trevor asked. I said "Think of it like a portable Overlook Hotel," and the room got a little quieter.

"I'd like to see that short," Trevor said. I agreed to send it immediately.

I ran back to work, stayed a few hours late to make up the time I'd burned on my lunch hour, and went home to find a DVD copy of Oculus: The Man with the Plan.

I'd made that short in 2005. It was 20 mins long, and a lot of fun. Over the years whenever I'd get into meetings (all courtesy of Jeff Howard, who had sold scripts long before we started writing together), people would see it and ask about a feature. Every time, though, the conversation stalled because they wanted the film to be a found footage movie, or they'd balk at the idea of me directing a feature.

I sent the DVD to Intrepid and waited. About a week later, they called and asked me to come back in.

I took another long lunch (this would become quite a habit as the project advanced) and drove back down. We met again in the conference room, but this time the mood was a little different.

Trevor said "We're interested in this. How would you expand it? I know there are cameras in the room with the man and the mirror, which begs the question of found footage..."

My heart sank.

"... but we're thinking that's a mistake. It looks like all the fun is in playing with reality, and you can't do that with found footage. So how would you do it?"

And we were off.

I won't rehash the long journey between this meeting and the Oculus premiere at Toronto (scroll down to find another blog about that), but that was really the moment when things changed.

I drove back to work a little giddy. Intrepid optioned the short film, I called Jeff Howard to see if he'd still want to work on a feature with me, and we were commissioned to write the script.

It was my first Hollywood job. I was paid the bare minimum, but I was also able to join the WGA because of the deal. I still didn't quit my day job (and wouldn't for a long time, not until the movie was really shooting in Alabama the following year) but I was off to the races.

Once the script was done, Oculus would lead to my first agents (at APA, and they treated me very well) and my first "real" movie.

What's particularly neat about this time, looking back, is that I owe it all to Absentia. We'd made this tiny little movie to try to kick open the door of Hollywood and start a career. And despite the enormous pride I had in the finished film, it felt for a long time like it hadn't quite succeeded in that.

But quietly, subtly, the movie did exactly what I hoped it would. The festival screenings built up a small but confident word of mouth. The movie led directly to my attorney Joel (who still represents me to this day), which led directly to my first real representation, which led directly to Intrepid Pictures.

Trevor Macy is now my business partner and has produced every single thing I've ever made since. We run Intrepid Pictures together, and I see that same eagerness in the faces of young filmmakers who find their way to us for general meetings. I try to be as supportive and accessible to them as I possibly can, because I remember very well what it feels like to stand in their shoes.

And Trevor even ended up making those other pitches he'd rejected all those years ago - Before I Wake and Gerald's Game followed soon after Oculus was done.

Absentia did everything I could have wanted it to do, and much more. I'll always remember that period of time with great affection... but man, it was stressful. The uncertainty of those years still exists in me, I don't think it'll ever leave.

Someone told me, along the way, that there wouldn't be a moment when I realized I "made it." It would happen while I wasn't looking. That ended up being absolutely true.

#absentia #oculus #intrepid pictures #hollywood dreams

[annwrites]

I will find you.

— pairing: simon x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: simon was your dad's best friend, & after your father's death, was tasked with looking after you. the two of you found solace in each other, until you were separated. you reunite when he one day shows up in alexandria w/ the saviors

— tags: age gap, traveling, angst, falling in love

— tw: major trauma bonding, hate sex, p in v sex, choking, degradation, humiliation, m receiving oral, slapping, spanking, hitting with a belt, abusive relationship, sex without a condom, depression, suicidal ideation

— word count: 8,408

— a/n: i am aware i switched tenses incorrectly a few times in this. i edited it some, but am leaving things as-is for now. this is simply who i am (someone who can't get her tenses fucking straight) lmao

You had intended to be in your house before the saviors pulled in, but you'd been late coming back from the pantry—you'd been helping Olivia take inventory, and had simply lost track of time.

You keep your head down, trying your utmost to remain invisible as you round a street corner, your home within eye-sight.

The street in front of it? Crawling with saviors. You pray that, so long as you seem harmless enough, they'll leave you be.

You've nearly reached your front porch when you stop dead in your tracks, an all-too familiar voice echoing off the houses.

"Alright, everybody knows the drill: spread out and half of everything. Negan wants a thorough cleaning done this time around. He's a bit concerned the 'fine residents' here might be holding out on us."

You stare at the back of his head—his thick cropping of dark-brown hair—then to his tall frame, strong shoulders, thick tanned arms.

No. He...he was dead.

You'd denied that truth to yourself for months, wanting to believe anything but. And then you'd come to accept it, knowing you had no other choice if you were to go on living. Or trying to, at least.

You shake your head. You're just hearing things. But you still silently plead for him to turn so you can see for yourself that it's not really him.

He settles his hands on his hips.

You take a tiny step closer. "Simon?"

You're so quiet when you say it that you barely even hear yourself.

Another step closer. "S-Simon?" Your voice has risen now, considerably, your tone almost panicked.

He slowly turns to face you and at first when his eyes settle on you, he stills. Then, "Oh, baby girl."

You break into a run, slamming against his solid chest and he quickly picks you up. You wrap your legs and arms around him, crying tears of joy, running your fingers through his hair.

"I found you. I found you. You're alive!"

You crush your lips to his, and you kiss him so long and so fervently, that when you finally pull away you're forced to draw in ragged breaths.

He nearly falls, stumbling as he lowers the two of you to the warm pavement, you in his lap, peppering his face with kisses as he laughs.

Neither of you see your people, or his staring at the two of you, some with jaws dropped in utter shock.

All you see is each other.

He slides his hands under the back of your shirt. "Oh, sweetheart, I thought..." He shakes his head, willing those horrible fucking thoughts from his mind. "Doesn't matter. You're here. You're safe. Alive and healthy."

You nod fervently. "I can't believe you're here."

Tears shimmer in your eyes and he removes one of his hands from your bare skin he'd missed touching so goddamn much to brush them away.

"I'm here, baby girl."

You press yourself against him, his own arms holding you in a tight embrace, terrified of ever letting you go again.

After the world fell apart, you, Simon, and your dad had been on the road together. You watched as they gradually changed right before your eyes. As the smiles and laughing and jokes they used to easily share over BBQs and working on cars disappeared and were instead replaced by paranoia, anger, dejectedness.

You grew more and more quiet as time went on. You had no idea how to survive something like this, whereas they got the three of you by alright. Hunting and scavenging. Even killing, once it became necessary.

You still remembered the first time Simon ever shot someone.

You'd been looting supplies from a local grocery store, which had, unfortunately, already been pretty-well picked over. You had wandered into the back when you'd felt a pair of arms wrap around your middle and throw you down on the floor. You'd only had enough time to scream as loud as you possibly could before a boot met the soft flesh of your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. It took you so long to catch your breath, you were afraid a lung had collapsed.

The only thing you saw when you finally looked up, was a very brief glimpse of his face before a bullet went through his head, blood spraying outward before he fell forward—dead.

Simon had kneeled down next to you, pulling you against his chest as you began to cry. "Baby girl, I'm sorry."

You'd never clung to him before like you did in that moment.

You didn't know what it was—gratefulness, trauma bonding, the fact he made you feel safe—but after that day, you began to look at him differently.

You were in your early-twenties, so no longer a child, but obviously now was not the time to admit some girlish crush on your dad's best friend. You felt mortified that you felt that way in the first place. Especially when you looked at the new state of the world around you.

But as the three of you walked, you couldn't help but admire his tall stature, broad shoulders and strong chest, the veins in his rough hands, the way he carried himself. Even his voice.

He'd only caught you staring once or twice, to which you'd always looked quickly away.

He had thought nothing of it.

He didn't think of you like that. Never had. He'd known you your entire life.

You were okay with nothing more ever coming from whatever it was that you felt. It was just nice to feel something other than fear for once.

Until grief consumed you when your dad died.

He'd gotten bit and forced the two of you to leave him behind. You'd begged and pleaded to stay with him, out of your mind with denial. You told him he'd be okay. You'd find medicine—something—and he'd be okay. He had to be. He was your whole world. You couldn't live without him. Couldn't live in a world where he no longer existed. That you'd never stand a chance of surviving without him there to protect you.

He'd told you that he loved you. That you were his whole heart and the best thing he ever did. That he was proud of you.

That Simon would take care of you from now on.

Simon had had to pull you away, even if you'd fought against him with everything you had, until you had relented, for your dad. It was his last wish.

You'd only been walking for a handful of minutes before you heard the gunshot.

After, your feelings constantly rotated through anger, grief, mourning, depression, hopelessness, rage...it took a long, long time to try and accept that your dad was gone. Even just barely.

You and Simon didn't talk much at first. Neither of you knew what to say. Maybe you had nothing left to say.

He did as your dad had asked of him: he protected you, kept you safe and fed. You tried to contribute as best you could, even if you didn't see the point. That's how you both felt. But you kept going for him.

Sometimes you resented your dad for it. Because all you wanted to do sometimes was lie down and give up.

The first time it happened was nearly three weeks later. The two of you had been lying on your sleeping bags, you staring up at the stars, head empty, apart from one thought.

It hadn't been about lust. Hadn't been about your crush that you'd forgotten about as soon as that biter had latched onto your dad's shoulder.

It had been about...working something out of yourself. You didn't have many options in terms of working out your problems—you couldn't exactly start firing off rounds out of anger; it'd waste ammo you didn't have, not to mention what it might attract. You couldn't expend your energy trying to hunt down biters that might bring you to the same fate as your father.

"Do you want to have sex?"

You weren't sure whether you hoped he was awake or not.

"No." Had been his immediate answer.

But you decided not to listen. You stood, walking over to him, lying down next to him, trying to press yourself against him, reaching down, trying to find his cock, even if it was flaccid.

He'd promptly rolled over, turning his back to you. "Go the fuck to sleep."

"No," you repeated back at him. Then you'd slid your hand along the side of him. "Please," you'd whispered, your voice pleading.

He'd remained silent. "Please, Simon. Please."

He'd growled, rolling back to his other side, hand coming up to wrap firmly, but gently around your throat. "I said get away from me."

Undeterred, you'd reached down, finding him hard. You'd gently squeezed his erection over his pants and his grip around your throat had tightened. "Stop it."

You did it again, palming him. "Please."

"I don't have any goddamn condoms. Are you stupid?"

When had he grown to hate you so much? You didn't care. You hated him, too. It should've been him instead. At least if it had been, your dad would still be here.

"I don't care," you'd craned your neck toward him, trying your utmost to press your lips to his, but he'd held firm.

He studied you for a moment, the look on his face hard, if not nearly irate.

Finally, he pulled you toward him, crushing his lips to yours so hard that it hurt. He'd grown a thick beard by this point, no longer seeing the point in shaving. The wiry hairs scraped against your soft skin, but it didn't matter. You knew: you wanted the pain. Wanted more of it.

He'd climbed on top of you, roughly pulling against his belt, unzipping his jeans, and then his erection sprang free. He scooted higher until his cock was directly in your face. "This what you want? Huh? Whole world fuckin' gone to shit and this is what's on your mind?" His voice was raised, breaths ragged, and all you could do in response was nod.

He'd gripped the back of your head, fingers tangling painfully in your hair as he forced your mouth down the full length of him.

You gagged as he shoved himself further down, using both hands to fuck himself inside your mouth.

The only sounds to fill the previously silent forest were you gagging for air—gagging against him—him grunting and moaning.

Drool covered the length of him, the salty taste of pre-cum coated your tongue.

You looked up to him, desperate for him to slip out of you long enough to let you get a breath of air.

Instead, he’d looked down. “You wanna breathe?”

You’d done your best to nod, despite his hands holding you firmly down on him.

He shoved himself further in, your nose pressed against his stomach. “Take it. Fucking all of it. Swallow it.”

You’d choked against him—his thick length filling your throat. Tears stung your eyes and you felt dizzy, black spots filling your vision.

Finally, he pulled out and you drew in a long, ragged gasp of air. His thick cock hung before you, covered in spit and dripping cum.

He grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers, stroking his cock with his free hand. “Open your fucking mouth. Now.”

You did. Wide, sticking out your tongue.

He sneered.

You wondered if it was in disgust. You felt the same toward yourself. Not even you understood what had come over you. What the hell you were doing.

You didn’t care to think long enough on it to try and find out. All you wanted was his cock back in your mouth so you could focus on sucking him off instead.

He shoved himself back in and laughed. Laughed. “Looks like daddy’s 'good little girl' isn’t so fucking good after all.” He gripped your hair again, bobbing your head against him over and over. “Fucking whore.”

You choked on him again, but he'd merely kept going. “Finally found a use for you. All this time looking after you and for what? Risking my ass to keep yours fed? Guess I found my repayment.”

He slipped out until only the tip of him was on your tongue, then plunged back in so hard that it had hurt.

“Swallow my fucking cock, you stupid slut.”

You circled your tongue around him as best you could and his hips jerked. “Do it again.”

You did as you were told and he moaned.

He slipped himself out of your mouth once more, then stood. “Take off your goddamn clothes.”

You couldn't get undressed fast enough.

Once the two of you had not a stitch of clothing on you, you spread your legs apart and he snorted. He then got on his knees, grabbed you roughly by the hips, and flipped you onto your front side, your ass in the air. He used one hand to direct himself inside of you—shoving himself into your cunt in one swift motion, which made you cry out in pain—the other pushing your head into the dirt.

“You made me do this,” he said each word between rough grunts.

As he pounded into you brutally from behind, all you could think was how good it felt to finally do so: feel.

Something.

Anything.

Even that, even pain. Even humiliation.

It didn't take long for his climax to build, and when he finished, it was all over your back, his cum warm...and there was so much of it. You'd briefly wondered when he last came. Then you'd thought how you didn't really care.

When he fell back on his ass, he'd taken a moment to look at your gaping red hole, satisfied with his work. He didn't give a shit if you'd finished as he dressed himself.

You stood, doing the same after cleaning him off of you.

Neither of you spoke another word to the other before lying down and both of you falling quickly to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, it’d been to a new soreness between your legs, but it felt good.

Simon glanced to you every few moments, and you didn't know it, but he’d been filled with complete fucking guilt. How could he have done that? Have spoken to you like that? You were such a good girl. Innocent, sweet. He’d been so fucking rough with you. Had…had that been your first time? Did you consider it a mistake? Or something worse? Something so terrible he couldn't even think the word.

“We should talk about last night.”

You didn't even look at him, but you did roll your eyes. “No.”

“Y/N,” he said, taking a step closer to you.

You felt disgusted by the guilty tone of his voice.

You looked up to him. “I wanted to get fucked and you gave it to me. We don’t need to talk. About anything. Got it?”

You started heading out of the woods, toward the road.

His feelings of guilt quickly fled him, instead replaced with a need to fill that foul fucking mouth again.

As the two of you traversed this road and that, you tried not to focus on whatever had happened to you—your sudden change in demeanor. It had started before last night: the feelings of absolute hate that now filled you.

Simon had gotten his release, but not you. Instead, you'd just felt sexually frustrated. You looked at him with a glare, at how relaxed he seemed, then back to the road. Prick.

You didn't know it, but when the two of you raided a pharmacy, Simon had taken nearly every single condom he could find, stuffing them into his backpack as he looked at you—thinking about all the things he wanted to make you do and do to you.

That night, after a rabbit dinner, he'd leaned back against a tree, and stared at you staring into the fire.

“Do you want to fuck?” He asked.

You looked at him and shrugged. “Sure.”

You took your time undressing, while all he bothered doing was pulling his pants down, rolling a condom over his already-hard member.

“Where did you get those?”

“Pharmacy.”

You didn't even nod in reply before straddling his lap, easing him into you with your dominant hand. You threw your head back and moaned in the back of your throat.

He gripped your hips so tightly you were sure he’d leave bruises. In fact, you hoped he would.

You'd begun to ride him, roughly, the back of his shirt scraping against the tree bark behind him. You'd reached up one hand, gripping his hair, forcing his head back, the other coming up to grip his face. You stared down at him with loathing as you looked into his eyes.

“I fucking hate you. It should’ve been you.”

You'd rode him harder, growing wetter.

He smacked your ass.

“Fuck you,” you said before crushing your lips against his.

He'd then pulled away. “Already are, you stupid slut.” He spanked you again and you clenched around him. So he did it again and again, alternating between ass cheeks.

Until, finally, he gripped both, guiding you against him as you began to bounce on his member.

When you came, it was so overpowering that you had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming in ecstasy. You drew blood.

He followed shortly after, your tight walls clenching, encouraging him toward the edge.

Everyday became like that. For awhile. There were times the two of you fucked up to five times a day—sometimes having to stop in the middle of a road, or doing it up against a tree, him rutting away behind you, hand fisted in your hair as filthy obscenities spilled from his mouth.

Once, you did it against the counter of some office you’d looked through—your feet dangling, your stomach flat against the countertop as the edges pressed painfully into your ribs, him fucking himself inside of you, telling you how pathetic you were, both of you cumming twice and loudly.

Another time, you’d been in a store and had knocked the shelf he’d been fucking you against over, your legs wrapped around his hips, both of you completely naked. You had been so wet it’d gotten all over your thighs and stomach. He’d mocked you relentlessly the entire time about it, about how disgusting it was that you could get that turned on when you’d just watched him kill a bunch of rotting, walking corpses outside. That you were truly fucked in the head now.

A number of nights he fucked you much like the first one—into the dirt, refusing to look at you, or teasing you with his cock, telling you that you didn’t deserve it until you proved that you really needed it. He made you do humiliating things to earn it, like tell him your most depraved fantasies. And then he used them against you when you least expected it.

But he always made them come true. Always. Those were the times the both of you came the hardest.

One time, you’d come across an abandoned neighborhood. He’d selected a house for you to stay in while he scavenged nearby.

When he returned, you’d been in the master bedroom, ass in the air, hand between your thighs as you rubbed away and fingered yourself.

He’d loudly dropped his bag, but you had barely given a reaction at his presence behind you. Other than slightly turning your head back to him, never stopping with rubbing your dripping cunt, and telling him to “get out”.

He’d walked over to the closet, found a satin tie and climbed onto the bed behind you.

You’d stopped touching yourself then as he leaned over you, breath hot against your ear as he told you lowly “this is what happens when you play with toys and don’t share with others”.

He’d bound your wrists together, then knotted the tie around the wrought-iron headboard.

He’d found another tie and yanked your head back. “I don’t want to fucking hear that foul mouth while I fuck you. Turns me off.”

Even though you knew otherwise.

He didn’t gag you with it until you nodded your head.

Finally, he’d climbed off the bed, breathing raggedly, heart pounding as he removed his belt.

“I’m going to spank you with this, little girl, and I’m not fucking stopping until I’ve broken skin. Do you understand me? It’s time you learn a lesson.”

You looked back to him, erection bobbing between his legs, then to his leather belt and then to him.

You nodded again.

“Let’s start then.”

He wailed against your bottom hard enough to make you cry out in pain and tears sprang to your eyes.

He huffed. “Not hard enough. Guess I need to try again.”

He brought the belt back down and you choked against the tie.

“Still not hard enough.” He walked around to the side of you and squeezed your face in his hand. “Maybe I should put my back into it. What'd’ya say, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly.

He studied you for only a moment before walking back behind you and bringing the belt down as hard as he could.

You screamed in agony that time.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” was the last thing he said before you heard his belt clatter to the floor and the mattress dipped behind you and he plunged his throbbing erection between your dripping folds. “Oh yeah, much fucking better.”

He fucked you brutally that night. You’d been in tears the entire time, drooling against that tie, snot running down your face and you were so wet you could hear it.

And your ass hurt horribly as he pounded into you from behind.

“You like that, you needy little cunt? Hm? That what you wanted from me? You wanted me to fucking hurt you? God, you’re so fucked up.”

You clenched around him.

“Jesus Christ, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

You clenched again. And then he fucked you harder.

After coming once, he’d tossed the used condom on the floor before walking around and untying your mouth. He smirked at the sight of the pillow below you, even your breasts, covered in spit and drool.

“Open your hole.”

You opened your mouth, wide, and he shoved himself in.

Your lips closed around him and the both of you moaned.

You bobbed your head against him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking as hard as you could, swirling your tongue around him.

He leaned back, his cock jamming against the back of your throat before standing straight again. He gripped the hair at the top of your head, forcing your eyes to look up at him standing over you, the tie around your wrists pulling tightly. “This is all you’re fucking good for, you dumb bitch. Having your holes fucked. This is the only use for that pretty little mouth. I can’t stand a single goddamn word that comes out of it. The sound of you sucking me off is so much better.”

He slips out, quickly grabbing your face, slapping you with his other hand. “Open, slut.”

You did and he forced your mouth back down. “I’m startin’ to get bored with that disgusting overused pussy. Maybe I’ll just fuck your ass next.”

You whimper, liking the sound of that.

“You like that, you nasty bitch?”

You suck harder.

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

He slips out of your throat again and you whine, looking up at him as he jacks himself off for a moment. Then he slaps you again and again. “Open. Open your fucking mouth.”

He brutally fucks the back of your throat, using both hands to control your head movements.

He doesn’t stop until you’re choking on his cum. He then unties your wrists

He puts on another condom, even though you feel exhausted. He eases into you from behind, wrapping your hair around his fist and he fucks you one last time, holding your backside against his front, palming your breasts, pulling painfully against your nipples.

He reaches down, slapping his palm against your clit and you cry in pain.

“Good. Keep crying. It makes my fucking dick hard.”

He does it again, then wraps his hand around your throat, gently squeezing. You clench around him and he squeezes harder.

“Mm, please.”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear you talking. You want me to lose my erection?”

He reaches around, shoving his fingers in your mouth and you suck on them.

“Good little whore. Just like that.”

It’s only a few moments later when your breathing becomes more ragged, you begin clenching more quickly around him.

“You’re fucking close aren’t you? Go ahead, then. Come on my cock. Do it, you nasty fucking cunt.”

And you do. And you cry as it washes over you, fucking yourself back against him, riding out your high. Riding him.

He follows right after, shoving you face-first down into the mattress, not stopping until he’s satiated. He then gets off the bed, walking into the adjoining bathroom and returning with a couple towels. He tosses one at you.

“Clean yourself up.”

You wipe yourself off. Your face, your backside, your pussy and once you’ve deemed yourself clean enough, you lie down.

Simon had tossed his dirty towel in the bathtub and when he returns to the bedroom, you’re lying on top of the covers trembling, quietly crying, curled in on yourself.

He lies down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and you quickly sit up, pushing him away. “Get off of me! Get the fuck away from-”

He grabs you, forcing your arms down to your sides. “Stop fighting me and let me fucking hold you.”

You hang your head and begin to sob.

He tentatively wraps you in his arms again before pulling you into his chest. He pulls the covers back, settling them over you. He brings one hand up to very gently massage your head. “Just close your eyes. Get some rest,” he says it quietly against the dark of the room.

He pulls you impossibly closer and you fall asleep like that, breathing in the scent of him, counting the steady rises and falls of his chest.

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the feeling of Simon’s hands rubbing something cool and slippery on your ass.

You’d eventually, at some point in the night, rolled over onto your stomach, which was how you were laying now.

You try to sit up, but he grips the backs of your thighs. “Hold still.”

You look back at him. “What the hell are you doing? What is that?”

“Triple antibiotic. And lotion. Should’ve cleaned my fucking belt off before I used it on you.”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“To make sure you don’t get a goddamn infection. Fuck knows what’s gotten on it over time-”

“Who cares?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

You continue. “Who gives a shit if I get an infection, Simon? You should want that anyway. You’d finally be rid of me.”

He frowns and you roll your eyes, turning away from him.

“Means I’d have to find a new fuck toy. And the market isn’t exactly booming.”

You roll your eyes again.

Finally, he stands, walking around to the side of the bed and he sits. He squirts some lotion onto his hands, then reaches toward your face, which now has finger-shaped bruises.

You flinch away and he freezes.

He gently reaches toward you again, rubbing it into your cheeks, making sure he doesn’t miss a spot.

You’d spent the rest of the day in the house, lying on your stomach for most of it, far too sore to sit down. That night, you and Simon had eaten some jars of Chef Boyardee for dinner. And you’d fallen asleep with him holding you once again, even if you’d told him to fuck off somewhere else. That you hated when he touched you unless you were fucking.

You ignored your body slowly wrapping around his for warmth.

After that night, he never slapped you during sex again and grew angry whenever you asked for it. Not even taunting him got him to do it.

Eventually, the sex grinded to a halt. It became a couple times a day, then once, then every other day, then every other week.

You told him you’d grown bored of him. That his cock just didn’t do it for you anymore. He told you he felt likewise, that he’d used you all up, stretched you out. Wished he had a tighter cunt to play with.

You said horrible things to each other until you stopped speaking altogether.

And then you stopped eating.

And he stopped caring whether you did.

You killed walker after walker, hating every one you laid eyes on.

He told you you’d become a little monster yourself.

You told him you hated him and hoped he died and became one of them.

He told you likewise. At least he wouldn’t have to look at you anymore.

And then had come the night when something inside of you broke.

You’d been doing…quite badly for awhile. Each day got worse. You no longer felt angry. You didn’t feel anything. All you thought all day long were horrible things about yourself. And then you felt it: you were worse than the walkers. He’d been right: you were a monster.

And he’d be better off if you were gone.

So you’d left while he slept, leaving everything behind with him, minus a knife to kill with.

You decided you didn’t care anymore what happened to you. You knew he wouldn’t look for you.

Until he found you, out of his mind with anger at what you’d done. You’d merely stood there numbly as he yelled at you, telling you how fucking stupid you were, asking if you had any idea what could’ve happened to you.

You didn’t respond.

And then he’d finally opened his eyes and saw what he’d turned you into.

You looked just like them: a walking corpse. A shell of the girl you once were. Your eyes were completely empty and it fucking terrified him.

When he tried to touch you, you'd flinched, afraid.

You told him to kill you.

He refused. And then cried. You’d just stood there and watched.

He’d got on his knees and begged for your forgiveness for the things he’d done to you. Had pressed his forehead against your stomach, his trembling hands holding onto your hips. Had asked you to forgive those horrible things he’d said. How brutal he’d been when you had sex, using your for your body.

You said nothing in return. You didn’t care.

Not anymore.

Eventually, the two of you came across a small cottage in the woods. It wasn’t much, but there was a small garden you began to tend. You thought of dying every day, but kept breathing because he refused to give you your gun back. Or let you out of his sight.

You slowly began to gain weight again, even if food didn’t seem appetizing anymore.

You slept. A lot. Nearly all the time, really. You didn’t have interest in doing much of anything else.

Simon began to grow out his beard again—having shaved some time ago before he gave you oral once. Even if you’d insisted you didn’t mind, didn’t give a shit.

He tended a fire at night, making you both dinner, and you only traded a few meaningless words as a poor excuse at conversation here or there.

Until the night he refused to let you wallow in your misery any longer. Not without finally hearing him out.

“I’m sorry.”

You’d looked at him.

“After your dad-”

“I don’t care.”

You’d stood, tossing your blanket on the floor, but he’d gently grabbed your hand, pulling you into his lap, even if you withdrew from his touch in disgust. “Please come back to me,” he’d whispered, tears in his eyes. “Please. I can’t survive this without you.”

You looked at each other. For a long time.

You knew the things he’d said before—he’d not meant any of it. You’d known that all along. Just as you’d not meant the things you had said to him. You’d both just been so angry. So lost. You needed someone—anyone—to take it out on.

Sometimes it felt good when you hurt him. Even just for a second. You tried to ignore when the guilt set in.

He reached up then, cupping your cheek, and you let him.

He rubbed his thumb along your lower lip. Then leaned up and kissed you. So, so carefully.

And then he did it again. And again. He gently gripped your hips. “I want you. So please…”

You’d stood, taking his hand. “How?”

He’d nodded to the floor, the plush rug before the hearth. “Here.”

He’d slowly undressed you. Before he removed each item of your clothing, he’d looked at you, asking silently for permission. And you’d granted it each time.

And then he began to undress himself, until you sat up, your hands resting over his.

He let you take over without a second thought.

Once the two of you were naked, you explored his body with your hands. The hard planes of his abdomen had now softened a bit and you smiled slightly to yourself at that, for some reason liking it. And then you lightly touched his hips, his thighs, his calves. You reached up and gently tugged against his beard.

“Do you want me to get rid of-”

You’d promptly shaken your head before softly pressing your fingertips against his cheeks, then brows.

You pressed your lips to his, then laid back on the floor.

He’d leaned over you, softly cupping your cheeks, tracing your lips, then running the palm of one hand down the plane between your breasts, down your stomach, then gently squeezing your hips, touching your thighs. He planted kisses to your knees.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’d whispered.

You didn’t believe it, but you believed that he did.

He’d lain his body over yours, gripping himself in his hand. “I’d like to make love to you.”

You suddenly realized you’d never done that before. It’d always been so violent and angry when the two of you joined your bodies together.

You reached down, taking him into your hand instead and you guided him into you.

He’d been so slow as he eased in and out of you you were sure it was going to take all night. So you’d tried to wrap your legs around him, tried to scoot closer to begin fucking yourself against him, until he’d gently pressed your hips into the floor.

That was what he had taught you sex was. He hated himself for it. What he’d done to you.

“We have all the time in the world, angel. We don’t have to rush. Not this night.”

You hadn’t understood, but you’d planted your feet back on the floor.

After some time, he’d lifted you into his lap, still deep inside of you, and gently tugged against your hips before wrapping his arms around you. You began to move against him.

He tucked some hair behind your ear. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Take your time.”

You pressed your forehead against his and whimpered.

“Shh, I’m right here. Just go slow, baby girl.”

Tears stung your eyes. That’d always been his name for you. When had he last called you it? You could no longer remember.

You laid your cheek against his shoulder, rocking your hips slowly against his, quietly crying.

Neither of you came that night. It hadn’t been about that. You’d just…enjoyed the intimacy. For hours. Until you fell asleep with him inside of you.

He’d carried you to bed, wrapping you in quilts before lying down beside you, holding you close.

You'd both slept until well after noon. When you woke, you'd traipsed into the kitchen to start cutting up some of the vegetables you'd recently harvested, Simon's shirt hanging from your frame, before you felt a pair of strong arms slowly wrapping around you from behind.

"I can do that?"

You shook your head, holding up a slice of potato, which he took from you, chewing on it. "It's ok."

So the two of you had sat and ate slices of potato covered in salt for breakfast. You didn't speak. Your only contact was one of your feet resting over his under the table.

And then you'd both gone back to bed and lied on your sides, looking into each other's eyes. Occasionally, he'd brush his fingers along the skin of your cheek, or you'd run your fingers through his beard.

Until, finally, you fell asleep again.

Everyday became like that. Eating, sleeping, few words shared between you. Communicating primarily through soft touches and gentle looks.

Sometimes it felt wrong. Because it wasn't what you were used to. Sometimes...sometimes you thought you wanted to go back to the way things were: him fucking you until you were both so raw neither of you could barely stand to walk, him continually adjusting himself trying to get comfortable as you traveled. Or fighting—saying the worst things imaginable about each other. Insulting one another's looks or short-comings or how you were in bed. Telling each other how you thought one another would die.

"You'll get bit. Only a matter of time. Fuckin' stupid enough to let it happen."

"Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll put that gun in your mouth one night. At least I won't have to be around you anymore. Probably just let the biters have you."

Even the sex became less rough and more...violent.

Him throwing you around, you hitting him, both of you leaving bruises on the other, him pulling out your hair, you leaving him covered in deep bleeding scratch marks, hoping they'd get infected. Or at the very least leave him in pain.

You both told the other nearly every day how much you hated each other. And just how deeply. How you wish you'd never met.

And yet you still stayed together.

One night at the cottage, Simon had been sitting in a recliner, looking at the fire and you'd gotten up from bed in search of him, wrapped in a quilt, naked underneath.

You'd climbed into his lap like that, legs bent, head resting against his chest. He'd placed one hand against your back, the other in your lap, which you took in both of your own hands, amusing yourself by tracing his callouses.

He'd rocked the both of you until you fell asleep there.

You'd woken first and placed a featherlight kiss on his lips. His eyes had fluttered open.

"Hi," you'd said softly, pressing more soft kisses to his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin.

"Morning," he replies quietly. "Did you sleep okay?"

You nod, resting your head back on his chest. "Yes."

He wraps his arms around you again. "Me too."

You close your eyes for a moment, until he speaks again.

"It's okay if you tell me no. But I'd like to eventually talk about...what happened to us out there."

You lift your head and bring one of your hands up to his cheek, rubbing your thumb against it. "It's not that I don't want to. I just...don't know how."

He begins to slowly rock the two of you. "I know, baby girl. It won't...be easy. I just...I think I just need to..." he sighs. "Guess I don't either," he says with a quiet chuckle.

After eating, the two of you had gone out to sit on the porch, your feet resting in his lap as you sat on the porch swing.

He didn't look at you as he spoke, massaging your feet. "The shit I said... Maybe at the time I thought I meant it. I was just so...so pissed off all the time. I was in pain, so I wanted to cause it, too. And you were there. Every hour of every day. So I made you into my own personal punching bag. Having brutal sex with you, saying evil shit... Sometimes it made me feel better, or made me forget how much I hated myself. I never bothered to pay attention to what it—I—was doing to you. Until it was too late."

You slid your feet from his hands, then climbed into his lap, sitting on his thigh, your eyes looking into his own.

"Simon, I... I wanted it. The angry sex...I asked you for that. I'm not a victim that you created. And I gave just as good as I got. What about the things I said...did? I missed my dad. I hated...everything. Hated just waking up in the morning. So I took all of it out on you, too."

You pressed your forehead to his. "I'm sorry. I never meant it: telling you that I wished you were dead." When you looked into his eyes, your own were shimmering with tears. "Because I would be without you. You kept me alive all that time. Despite no longer having a reason to."

You pressed your lips to his.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him. "I'm sorry too, baby girl." He began to sob.

You'd cradled the back of his head as he cried for what felt like hours. And you cried with him. The two of you kept apologizing to the other over and over and over again.

He told you he never wanted to have sex like that again.

You told him you weren't sure that you ever wanted to have sex again in general.

He told you he was okay with that. Even if guilt filled him at knowing he'd made it such an ugly thing for you to endure. He wasn't entirely sure that he believed you'd wanted it like that every time. He didn't want to think about the time he'd fucked you while you were on your period, telling you how revolting you were, but that the sight of the blood turned him on, because he could imagine what it would be like to watch you die.

You had slumped into the dirty mattress he'd taken you on then and sobbed as he finished into his condom.

You'd stayed away from him for the rest of the night, crying quietly across the room.

He wanted to stick a gun in his mouth for it.

Finally, he told you he loved you. More than anything in the entire world.

And you repaid the sentiment.

He said you were meant to be together.

You agreed with that.

And you knew the reason the two of you felt that way was because of what you'd gone through together—had put each other through. No one else would ever understand the other the way you two did.

He'd carried you back into the house, just liking the feeling of you safe in his arms, and he took you to bed and laid on his side looking down at you, telling you over and over and over how much he loved you.

That he would until his heart stopped beating.

You asked him through tears to please not talk about such a terrible thing.

He'd nodded, kissing you.

Later that evening, you'd gone outside and sat in the grass side-by-side. You watched the lightning bugs all around the property, flickering here and there. And he watched you.

You ate venison that night. Simon had killed it a couple days prior, then cooked the meat. You made a vegetable soup, at least as best you could. He told you it was the best meal he'd ever had.

Sometimes when you slept, you had horribly vivid nightmares. Sometimes they were about Simon doing terrible things to you. Sometimes they were memories.

But when you woke, he always took you into his arms and promised that you were safe now. That you could close your eyes again; it was okay.

One morning, Simon had found you in front of an open window at the front of the cottage, watching birds playing in the birdbath outside. He's wrapped you in a blanket and then his arms. "What're you thinking about?"

You laid your head back against him. "I keep waiting for this to end. For one of us to die, or for me to wake up and find out this was all just a dream. For us to go back to the people we were. Or for this place to get overrun or be taken from us. Nothing good lasts anymore."

"We've made it this far."

At what cost, you'd thought.

He'd brought his lips close your ear. "Maybe we can try and make this our new home?"

You'd only nodded slightly. "Maybe."

You should've never bothered.

It was a month later when a pack of four men stumbled across the cozy abode. Simon had been outside chopping wood when he heard them in the woods nearby. He'd come inside in a panic, shoving things into a bag for you.

He'd told you that you had to get out, that he'd find you.

"N-no, we can't be apart. Simon, please-"

He'd cupped your cheeks firmly. "Baby girl, you have to. We don't have time to talk about this. I will find you. I will find you, but you have to leave now."

They were now pounding on the front door.

"Slip out the back and I'll distract them while you run. Sweetheart, no matter what you do, do not stop running. And if you come across another person, kill them. Don't trust anyone."

"How will you-"

"We know someone is in there! C'mon out. Just want to talk. Nice lil' place you got here. Ain't no place this nice without a woman's touch." You heard some laughing and your bowels turned to water.

He crushed his lips to yours then. "I love you. Now go."

You spent weeks alone on the road after. Every time you heard a twig snap in the forest or the sound of a bird's wings taking flight, you'd jerked in this direction or that one, uttering his name, praying he'd finally done as he'd promised and found you.

But that never happened.

The both of you had only just begun to mend what had broken between the both of you and then...you were torn apart.

You were forced into being strong, no longer having him to rely on for survival. You scavenged on your own, took down walkers on your own, built your own fires.

Even despite how much you had grown to despise each other, he'd still made sure to teach you the necessities. And you loved him all the more for it.

Every day you spent wandering aimlessly.

Until one evening, you came upon large steel walls and a gate. You'd only just looked up long enough to see someone aiming a rifle at you before you blacked out.

And when you'd come to, it'd been like you'd been dropped into a whole new world.

Acclimating to Alexandria had been...difficult. You kept everyone at arm's length, and walked by that gate every day, considering going back out there. Perhaps permanently.

Until you adjusted, which had taken a long while to come around to.

You'd only told Deanna half-truths during your initial interview. And you knew that she knew that you were withholding half of your story. She told you as much. Then told you she was okay with it. She understood.

You'd cried.

And then she'd given you a job, helping with the pantry. She said it was, at the very least, something which would help occupy your time and hopefully take your mind off of whatever you'd endured out there.

And so you went to work every day. Olivia was cordial with you. Nice even. She understood you didn't want to make friends. So you worked in amicable silence.

And you slowly began to make the house you'd been given into a home.

Had started taking daily walks around Alexandria. You'd never know it, but Deanna watched you some days, a small smile on her face.

One afternoon, Spencer had been waiting on your porch for you when you got back. He'd asked you to sit, then nervously asked you over to dinner, offering to make anything you wanted.

You'd turned him down. Told him you were still in love with someone else. And that that fact would never change.

He'd pushed further, telling you that whoever he was was gone now. That you could move on and not have to feel guilty about it.

You'd stood without another word and slammed the door in his face.

He didn't try again after that.

You didn't want to consider his words as being true: that you'd never see Simon again. You didn't want to think he was...dead.

That one small conversation had sent you into a spiral. One where all you could think were the horrible things you'd put him through. What if he was gone and the last thing that went through his mind was you telling him that he deserved it?

You'd started volunteering to go on runs then. And you looked for him everywhere, but never found him. Not a trace.

Until he found you.

Once you and Simon finally stood, breathless from kissing, you'd firmly twined your fingers between his and led him inside your house, locking the door behind you.

He'd carried you upstairs to your bedroom and the two of you couldn't get undressed fast enough.

You'd made love repeatedly. Had said all those things you should've before. Had told each other of the things you'd done and been through while apart.

Simon had promised you'd never ever be parted again. That he would either stay in Alexandria, or you would come back to the Sanctuary with him. But going back out there...it wasn't an option.

Eventually, Simon had left you for just a moment. Long enough to go outside for just a moment.

A fellow savior had told him they were just finishing up.

He'd told them he was staying for now. And to relay a message to Negan: he finally found what he'd been looking for.

#fic: twd (simon x reader) #simon twd x reader #simon twd x y/n #simon twd x you #twd x y/n #twd x you #twd x reader

[prettyflyshyguy]

He's a monster, and he's hungry.

Wrote this over a few days because I'm. Not ok about this. It's on AO3, and under the cut cause it's a short one. Not super edited, just got desperate for more content exploring when Dean was a vampire and when I found none I was like "well alright. Guess I'll make it then."

“I can’t believe it.”

Dean paced the length of the hotel room, passing back and forth by the table where his brother sat, prowling like an animal in captivity.

“You just stood there and watched that freak turn me!”

He stared at Sam, hoping for a change in his reaction, a look of sympathy, an admission of guilt, some form of recognition that something fucked up happened in the alley. Sam’s face was blank, his heartbeat steady, and frankly he just didn’t seem to care. In fact, he hadn’t seemed to care about much recently. He was a cold, lifeless, empty husk and Dean was tired of it. His usual quips brought no frustrated response, no snappy replies, he was simply brushed off. There was no banter, no anger, simply complete and utter apathy no matter what he said. Sam had his moments, everyone did. Dean knew he had a tendency to push his luck, many people had told him this. But Sam was different, they were siblings. Sam putting up with him being an ass was just how things were, and would always be. At least it's how it should be. After everything they’d seen and done together… If Sam held any resentment, he’d have made it clear by this stage. He was a good liar, but Dean could always tell. They both knew each other too well. If he had any doubt something was off about Sam, it was quickly disintegrating as he stalked the room, watching him blankly staring up at him from the small table. Not even fidgeting in the slightest. 

They’d been pushed to their limits before, and Sam was always the first to speak up when something was wrong. 

“Dean.”

His lip curled at the sound of his name. It was so hollow. So static. It reminded him of school, when his teacher would check the roll call. It was an obligation and a requirement, not something done out of genuine care. 

He decided to push a little harder.

“I mean what the hell was that all about Sam? Revenge? To get me back?” he growled. 

“You know you’ve talked so much shit about me taking risks, is this all just some master plan to show me the error of my ways? A jab back at how you still, somehow deep down, think I’m Dad’s perfect son?”

He stood still, observing for a change in reaction. Dean desperately wanted to find a tiny shift in body language, a subtle twitch in his eyes or mouth, that sad glint in his eyes.

He breathed out slowly as Sam once again stared back with soulless eyes and a steady heart.

Not enough, Ok, he thought. He was an expert at this. Maybe Sam had steeled up after all these years. 

It wasn’t a completely unreasonable possibility. 

“I almost hurt Lisa and Ben, Sam! I came so close, I could have killed them and no one would have been there to stop me, but you were!”

He took a step towards Sam as he spoke, the venom of the accusation lingering in the air.

Sam breathed out and shuffled in his seat. Finally, a response. 

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

You calm down.

He took another step closer, noting the slight increase in pace of Sam’s heart. Progress, hell yeah. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips though Dean’s eyes were as cold as Sam’s.

“Oh, that's rich coming from you! That’s easy for you to say when you’re not being assaulted by noise like you went to the movies and an intern did the mixing.”

He took another step closer. 

The thrumming beat increased in speed once more. 

“Dean.”

“S’matter of fact,” Dean slid his fingers across the tabletop, tracing the grooves in the rough wooden surface, “you’re exceptionally calm given I’m now stuck doing a bad David Boreanaz impression for an indefinite period of time, with no guarantee this Campbell special will even work.”

He looked up from where his hand slid along the table to match Sam’s unwavering gaze. His brother tilted his head to look up at him as Dean hovered above, adjusting in his seat. Sam slipped his left arm over the backrest of the chair. 

Dean’s expression turned cold once more.

“And I’ve been thinking, Sammy. It’s ironic. Between that creep, you just standing there and watching, and…” jabbing his thumb back towards himself he gestured “... me…” 

Dean slammed his hand back down on the table, leaning in closer. The headlights of a car flickered through the slim gap in the middle of the window curtains drawn behind them. It reflected off of Dean’s eyes for a split second, making Sam flinch. It reminded him of the animals on the side of the highway, peering at them through the bushes before darting away when they drove late at night.

“Begs the question,” Dean continued. “Which one of us is the real monster?”

Sam swallowed. The first real visible sign of him showing some nerves. He’d finally cracked him.

“Since you can hear my heartbeat,” Sam spoke slowly, “what does it say about me now?” 

His tone was outwardly calm, but Dean could hear through him. 

“It says you’re shit scared, Sammy.”

Sam waited for a few seconds before opening his mouth to respond. Whatever he said, Dean didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze began to shift from Sam’s face down to where the light of the window caught the curve of his exposed bare neck. A pang of hunger swelled in the pit of his chest as the noise and light and intensity of the room faded away until all that was left was the steady sound of the beating, beating, beating. 

A sharp, intense pain stung the side of Dean’s neck breaking him free of the trance as he collapsed to the ground groaning and twitching in pain. Through fading vision he looked up to see Sam still sitting on the chair, slouching back, but holding a syringe in his left hand. The contents empty. 

“You… sonof-abich…” his words formed a slurry as his body went limp.

-

“Nice of you to join us Samuel.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sam’s showing me what all those years of boy scout training taught him to do.”

Dean sat on a chair, his legs, arms and chest bound with thick twine rope. Smiling at Samuel for a moment, he motioned with what little mobility he had in his hands to indicate. Samuel glanced at his brother with a questioning look.

“You did this?”

“He shot me full of dead man’s blood, and I gotta say, that’s one hell of a drug.” 

Dean’s tone was dry and unimpressed. Samuel assessed the room, looking as though he wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it. 

“Anyway you said you were getting something to help?” Dean’s voice broke the silence.

“This is help.”

Samuel pulled a glass jar out of a brown paper bag, setting it on the table. The contents was dark and viscous. It had sloshed around in transit, coating the airgap at the top of the jar. The light pierced through the clear glass and bright red light danced across the varnished wood tabletop.

“Wh- what is that?” 

“Cows blood.” Samuel said curtly.

“That’s help?”

“It’ll keep you alive.”

As he twisted the lid open Dean’s eyes flicked between the jar and the two men.

“Well can you at least untie me first?” he pleaded, his voice straining. 

The rope dug into his wrists and the thought of being spoon fed cows blood was sending his mind to a dark and violent place.

“Dean, it's just a precaution.” Samuel attempted to be reassuring. 

Dean clenched his jaw. Precaution for what. You weren’t even here to see Sam attack me.

“Oh cut the bullcrap!” Dean spat, pulling against the rope binding his arms and legs. “C three P O over here was a bit too cautious back in the alley and look where it got us!”

Samuel stared at him tensely. Dean winced as a spike of sound ringed in his head from a car horn outside. 

“Look I’m fine, Samuel. Really. Just untie me.”

The older man hesitated.

“Please?” Dean cracked a smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

Usually.

Samuel watched him carefully while he placed the jar lid on the table. The unmistakable smell of iron, meat and death began to waft through the room. He leaned into the scent as he realised just how hungry he was. How dry his throat was. How much the deep, dark red called out to him.

“Samuel I will kill you if you try and hand feed that shit to me.”

The older man raised an eyebrow in response, unimpressed, and picked up the jar.

“Wait!” 

Dean grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth as Sam called out from the other side of the table.

“One drop of human blood is enough, are we sure that cow’s blood is clean?”

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me Sammy…” Dean groaned.

Samuel paused, running it through his mind, blinking a few times, he contemplated the risk and the chance. Looking back, Sam shrugged silently.

“Sam has a point. If any human blood, from a cut or a scratch, got into this at the abattoir, you’re done.”

Dean ignored him and glared at Sam.

“God I can’t listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam blurted in frustration. 

“Your fucking heartbeat man! It's so loud, it's so monotonous it’s killing me! Look, Samuel, just cut this fuckin rope and hand me the fuckin jar.”

Reluctantly, and cautiously, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster on his belt. Staying as far from Dean as possible, he nicked part of the rope on Dean’s right arm just enough for him to wiggle it loose. Waving it in the air and stretching the fingers, Dean looked back to the two who were eyeing him off.

“See that wasn’t so bad now was it.” Dean’s tone was sarcastic and he tapped the armrest with his index finger.

“C’mon guys don’t look so nervous.  You can just drug me up again, it’s not like that's off the cards is it Sammy.”

Sam glanced away at the mention of his name, Samuel grunted in frustration as he reached for the jar and took a step towards the chair. In an instant the background thrum of his heart filled Dean’s mind, it was faster, full of nerves and fear compared to Sam’s horribly persistent flat tone. As he approached holding the jar out, Dean felt something shift under his lip.

“NO.”

His voice boomed as he jerked back in his seat, the legs scraping against the floor. Breathing sharply, he tilted his head down avoiding the stares of his associates. 

“Get away from me.”

Grunting and breathing through gritted, sharpened teeth, he glanced up. 

“Sammy, drop the machete.”

They’d both instinctively reached for their weapons. Brandishing them high, already poised for a clean decapitating swing. Dean growled and heaved deep breaths of air, flexing the remaining restraints. He could break free, if he wanted to. With one arm loose, he could easily rip the remaining rope off. He contemplated the thought, reveling in how powerful it made him feel. 

“Dean?”

Samuel’s voice snapped him back to reality. He’d placed his machete back on the table, Sam had lowered his but still gripped it. 

Dean extended his free arm out and flicked his hand towards the table.

“Just hand me the fuckin jar already.”

Samuel was quick to oblige, and quicker to back away once Dean had it in his grip. He tried to not dwell on the way his companions looked at his mouth instead of his face. He could feel the second set of teeth against his lips, his tongue. The smell of blood was suffocating him now, a mixture of alluring coppery tones and the stench of raw stale flesh. He wasn’t sure which was making him feel more ill. The pungent aroma or the fact he liked something in it.

“So you two just gonna watch like this is some sort of peep show or what?”

Neither responded, still fixated on his every move. Pulling a face, Dean limply held the jar up as it to toast before bringing it to his lips. Taking a tentative sip, he recoiled as blood spilt down his chin. Groaning and sputtering he violently spat it out.

“Augh, god this tastes disgusting–”

“I promised you help, I didn’t promise it’d taste nice. Now drink it.”

#sorry dean your face is apparently painfully difficult for me to draw #or maybe its the lack of sleep idk #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #vampire!dean #Live Free or Twihard #spn 6x05 #my art #fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #im so deep in the mud for this one gamers #PUTTING ON MY CLOWN MAKEUP #BEING LIKE #YEAH NAH IM NOT ABOUT TO GET INTO SUPERNATURAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #apologies if things dont line up with cannon #i wrote most of this with ONLY the context of the singular episode #anyway #crawls away #i desperately need to sleep now

[obxone]

Let Me (Part Three)

Edited-ish-- ~1.9k words

(Part One) (Part Two)

The next time you wake, Sarah is missing from where she had slept, and you spot the bedroom door cracked open. A groan falls from your lips as you stretch before you push the covers back and stand. You glance as someone shuffles by the door, but the crack is too tiny for you to tell who it is. A tingle settles in your stomach at the idea of it being Rafe.

You dig for clothing, knowing your best bet would be to change now. After finding your clothes for the day, you wander into her bathroom to change, wash your face, and brush your teeth. You emerge to her on the bed, dressed for the day already.

“Hey,” you smile at her as you tuck one side of the oversized t-shirt into the waistband of your shorts.

“Hi.” She smiles at you before leaning back on her palms. “Breakfast is ready when you are. Everyone else is down there.”

“What are we having?” You ask as you tuck your night clothes into your bag before spinning to look at her.

“Crepes.”

You grin. “Vinny’s?”

“Vinny’s.” She confirms, following you out of the room. “Rafe went this morning. He is being weird.”

“How?” You ask, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

She shrugs. “When have you ever known Rafe to do something for anyone else without getting something out of it?”

“He is. He is getting the best crepes on Kildare.”

She laughs a little. “Or maybe he is trying to suck up to Ward for something.”

“Maybe,” you frown as you both enter the kitchen to see everyone seated and eating.

“Good morning!” Wheezie grins around a bite.

“Good morning,” you offer as you take the only seat left next to Sarah and across from Rafe.

“Slept in this morning, I see,” Ward smiles at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that when you’ve been here. Too many things to do.”

“I don’t think I have either,” you respond, your gaze cutting to Rafe, who focuses on his crepe. A smirk teases his lips, but he does not meet your eyes.

Everyone eats in relative silence until Ward finishes first and stands with a short thank you to Rafe for going to get it. You feel his gaze as you savor your last few bites while everyone around you starts to clear their plates away. A smile on your face as you fight the urge to look at him.

“I’ll be outside,” Sarah says to you and goes through a set of double doors. Wheezie and Rose separate to go upstairs, and Ward leaves after telling Rose he is checking on a Cameron Development project.

“Vinny’s is your favorite, right?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. You look at him then with a nod. And he grins.

“Did you go for me?” You ask softly, aware that you could be assuming that he did, but your mind races at the thought that he did.

He stands, collecting his empty plate before leaning in, his lips by your ear before he passes you. “Of course, I did.”

The fork you were holding clatters onto the plate as you turn to look at him, chewing the last bite. He smirks, downing the last of his orange juice before leaning forward, resting his palms on the counter as he stares at you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks, his voice low, aware there are plenty of Cameron family members around.

You stand, collecting your dishes and moving to the sink. Your shoulder brushes against Rafe as you lean forward to set the plate with the others. Your hands are trembling again, and your heart thuds so loud you can hear it in your ears.

“I want you,” he says, his fingers on your back. His chest brushes against your shoulder intentionally. “All of you.” His hand tangles in your hair. You turn your face to look at him, and he smiles a little. “You’re perfect, perfect for me.” His fingers trail over the back of your neck.

Your lips part as you try to remember to breathe. Rafe stares at you, his gaze searching yours.

“We don’t get to choose our obsessions, Baby.”

“Rafe…”

“No,” he says, with a shake of his head. “I’ll do whatever it takes, say the word.”

“I set the pace, remember?” You ask, your hands shifting to touch his shirt-covered chest. He nods, and you bite your bottom lip as you think about the next step. You should have known one night like last night would never have been enough. Your body craves his touch and aches to see that man again. Rafe Cameron had his hooks in you, deep. “I want you too. So, we do this my way.”

“I belong to you,” he says, and it makes your heart leap into your throat. You blow out a heavy breath. He brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss there.

“I need to tell Sarah.” You whisper. She was your best friend, and she deserved to know the truth from you, you knew that. “I’ll tell her, and then we can go from there.”

“Okay.” He withdraws his touch and steps back. A hopeful look on his face that you were willing to go beyond the one night with him.

“Rafe?” You ask once he starts to walk away.

“Hmm?” He turns, running a hand down the back of his neck.

“Thank you.”

He nods, lips pursed into a thin line before he is gone. You exhale, dropping your head to look at the dirty dishes. You had to tell her today.

— — — —

Sarah watches you with a touch of concern as you try to keep a lid on your tense thoughts. You are currently supplying her with frozen yogurt in hopes that she will be less upset with a little sugar in her system.

“Spit it out!” She finally snaps, and you groan, dropping your head onto the picnic table.

“I’m worried you’ll hate me.”

She frowns. “What did you do? You’ve been off all day today and I know you like the back of my hand, something is wrong.”

“Not necessarily wrong,” you supply with a slight shrug before you meet her gaze again. “I did something, and I do not want to lose you as a friend because of it.”

She shakes her head, licking the chocolate off her spoon. “I know you. You are incapable of doing something that bad.”

You wince before exhaling a breath to steel your nerves. “I had sex with Rafe.”

Her plastic spoon tumbles from her fingers onto the wooden tabletop as her eyes widen and her lips part in surprise.

“I know,” you whisper, looking away briefly at the gravel lot the little picnic tables are on. “But he offered to help me not be a leper anymore, and I accepted.”

“When?” she asks, her voice changing to something darker. It was the tone she took with Rafe when she is pissed at him.

“Last night. While everyone was sleeping.”

She closes her eyes briefly before looking away. “You went willingly, right?”

“I did.”

She nods, chewing her bottom lip before huffing. “One-time thing?”

You frown deeper. “That was the intention…”

“Jesus,” she groans, closing her eyes again with a shake of her head. “I… don’t know how to feel about this.”

“I know.”

She releases her bottom lip with another huff. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it,” you whisper, looking at your hands in your lap. “I’m sorry, Sarah, for putting this on you, but I won’t be sorry for doing it.”

She studies you over before groaning. “Fine.”

“What?” You look at her then.

She shrugs. “It’s your body, your decision. Too late now anyways. Just be careful, okay?”

You nod, blinking back the onslaught of tears that threatened. “I understand. But you also only know Rafe as a brother, and I know him differently.”

Her eyes widen, and her palm slaps down on the table. “Is that why he went to Vinny’s this morning?!”

You blush then, and she laughs.

“Wow.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“I’m glad you told me.” She offers before reaching to steal your spoon that is still stuck into the melting yogurt in your bowl but hesitates. “You kissed him, right?”

You nod. Sarah shakes her head.

“Be back, got get a new spoon.”

You laugh a little before glancing around as she goes back into the little shop to get a new spoon. You spot Rafe, Topper, and Kelce a few tables away. Of course, he is watching you. A worried look on his face, but you offer a small smile, and he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping slightly.

You were not surprised to see him here, but you had not planned for him to follow you to the yogurt shop. He had been in the room when you had offered a girls' treat to talk about something, but you had not intended for him to follow you. Now that he has, you could not help but smile more. Rafe is showing you again that he cares about you. He is ready to be there to pick up the pieces of your friendship with his sister and likely brought her boyfriend to help ease any tension that would form over you telling her.

Sarah climbs back onto her side of the picnic bench as her brown eyes meet yours. “Topper will be thrilled,” she offers, and you study her. “Rafe is an attention whore, and if he is getting attention from you, then I should be able to get my boyfriend back more often.”

You laugh, and she joins in.

“Ladies,” Topper says as all three friends approach you.

“Gentlemen,” Sarah offers mockingly. She is also not surprised in the least to see all three of them. Her brown eyes flicker to Rafe, who is staring at you instead of her. She smiles a little when he reaches for you. His fingers are sure as he takes the empty place next to your left. His lips brush your cheek, and you lean into him. Rafe’s hand brushes your hair behind your shoulder as he looks at you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, and you nod once. “Good.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at him. “As much as I wish I could have stopped this, Rafe, I’m not going to be mean to her because you tricked her.”

“I didn’t trick her,” he says back and looks down at you. His eyes widened a little. “Right?”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head and touch his face, fingers featherlight across his jaw. “I wanted to.”

Kelce smirks at you both before a thought seems to flash through him. “Wait.”

“What?” Sarah asks.

“Now I’m a fifth wheel.”

You laugh and lean into Rafe’s side. His arm wraps around you. “We’ll find you someone Kelce.”

“Scarlett’s single,” Sarah offers. “Rafe already nabbed my best friend. She’s the next friend in line if you want.”

You laugh and peek up at Rafe rolling his eyes at his sister. He looks down at you after, his lips brushing your forehead.

“Nah,” Kelce shakes his head. “I don’t want to be some girl's bitch.”

Rafe’s hand leaves your side as he shoves Kelce playfully. “Watch it. Because it will happen even if you are not planning it.”

“Scarlett is nice,” you goad him, but he rolls his eyes at you.

"Rafe," Sarah says, leaning onto her elbows that rest on the picnic top while Topper finishes her yogurt. "Take my best friend on a date and ask her properly. She deserves it."

You blush as he looks down at you. His eyes traveling over your face.

"Tonight, 6pm?"

"It's a date." You confirm.

The End.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #outer banks rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron

[bambi-kinos]

About Get Back/Let It Be.

Because I'm been wondering about the changed clipped and cuts from from the original. Both Estates and Paul and Ringo approved it. Do you think Paul and the rest are aware of it? And if they are, why is that? they should know by now that the fandom knows about the original clips. I don't mind the changed parts or that it made it look lighter because the way he said it, that it feels like it saved his life and that it showed his talent but he must be aware more than anyone that some parts of the fandom are saying that he is trying to re-write the history. Or maybe he really did see it they way it shown as more accurate. I mean he was there. What are you thoughts on this. I don't bring Ringo in this because I don't think he knows much + he seem to have left it behind him.

They're definitely aware of the cuts because Peter Jackson had to get approval from all four sides in order to get the documentary on D+. Apple Records is still the owner of the footage, the only thing Disney is doing afaik is licensing the footage and other Beatle products. This is to sell subscriptions to their failure of a streaming service. So I would imagine that 1) Paul and Ringo have watched all the remastered footage in full; Peter said he remastered all of it and 2) they got final say on what went into it, as well as Dhani/Olivia, and Sean Lennon as the executor of John's estate. (Yoko is no longer in the picture, the industry rumors online are saying that she is currently dying of dementia and that Sean has been fully in charge of the estate for a few years now.)

It's also important to think broadly about who the documentary is for. The number of people who are intimate with the Beatles, know the full story about their woes, the people who don't fall for Yoko's bullshit, and the people who have actually listened to the Nagra tapes, is a tiny tiny tiny TINY slice of Beatles fandom. I would even posit that this portion of the audience is only 5,000-10,000, maybe 15,000 people at best. That is a tiny slice of a global audience that numbers in the millions.

Paul and Ringo are completely safe and they know it. They know that their audience is made up of passive normies that believe everything they see without question. If you show a normie Beatle fan a picture of John and Paul gayzing at each other and tell them "these men are heterosexual" they will immediately go "of course they're heterosexual!" And they will not question it further. If you have them listen to a piece of the Nagra tapes, the normie would declare it "boring." These are the types of people who make up 95% of the Beatles global audience. Everyone on the estate side knows this very well which means they have carte blanche to do whatever they want, edit however they want, say whatever they want, and there will be zero (0) appetite to question them.

Just look at the wealth of interviews where Paul says insane shit and the journalist never ever questions him on it! It never occurs to them to question it or investigate further. This is not because they are dumb, it is simply because these people are normies. They passively accept everything they are told and there is no desire whatsoever to act any other way. They would be confused and distressed by anyone who wants to dig deeper.

Why Paul and Ringo and the estates called for certain cuts and edits is unknown and unknowable. We have no idea what they mandated, what they had Peter cut, or why. We also have no idea what Disney made Peter cut to put it on D+. Don't forget that the Beatles are not the only forces at work here. We don't know and will likely never know.

Re: your last sentence, I don't think Ringo has moved on at all. He loves the Beatles and is protective of them as a property. IMO it is more accurate to say that Ringo has grieved for the Beatles and that he let go of his survivor's guilt about the Beatles and John's murder as a part of his recovery from substance abuse. As part of that he finally integrated Beatle Ringo into Richard Starkey and now he can be fully comfortable in his skin as both. But he still loves the Beatles and still cherishes them deeply, he just doesn't get involved in the negative aspects because he's done his time with them. The cruelty, meanness and greed is what he's moved on from.

#paul mccartney #ringo starr #the beatles #get back #olivia harrison #dhani harrison #sean lennon #anonymous asks #my meta #beatles meta

[greatqueenanna]

So, with this tiny drama with Hans and sociopathy, I decided to ask a friend of mine, who has ASPD, what he thought of this whole situation with Hans. A bit of history - as you all know, I like Helsa, so back in 2014 when it was revealed that Hans was a sociopath, I went into research mode to try and discover more about this. That is where discovered Sociopath World, a website made for sociopaths to discuss how they navigate the world and to give advice to 'empaths'.

This is where I met my friend - we'll call him BG. BG is a clinical psychologist, film buff, and, as said, diagnosed with ASPD. Now, I didn't directly ask him about Hans at the time, I just asked him about the Hans - Elsa dynamic a lot without using their names (cuz, you know - I'm a shipper lol) we've been friends ever since, and I ask him all the time about film characters.

When I started talking about Hans and sociopathy more recently, I got an anon where someone questioned if I should be talking about this, so I decided to finally ask BG about Hans. I shared with him Jennifer Lee's comments, some posts within the Hans/Helsa tags, and of course recommended he watch the movie. To my surprise, he did it fairly quickly and sent me a reply today.

Few things to keep in mind - BG is very blunt, so sorry if you find some things he says a bit offensive or accusatory. Also, keep in mind (something he mentions as well) that he doesn't speak for everyone who has ASPD. Also, don't worry, he knows I'm posting his response here. I did edit a few things for privacy purposes. He knows this too.

Now, I originally wanted to include his response in my Hans and Sociopathy post, but to make sure that the post didn't end up being too long, I decided to place it here instead. His response is under the read more.

Thanks for contacting me, I always like evaluating people’s fascinations with ASPD. This is a unique one, a cartoon character. I’m usually asked to evaluate Elsa (spoiler, she’s not a sociopath) from this movie, so it’s a nice change of pace. Prince Hans is a sociopath. Let’s get into it.

So what we first have to establish about anyone trying to defend those with ASPD are their motivations. No one defends those with ASPD just for kindness's sake, not unless they have a positive experience with someone in their life (which is exceedingly rare with ASPD). Here, we’re talking about a cartoon character that was first established as a ‘good’ and then turns ‘evil’ for a shocking twist.

From what I’ve seen from this character’s fans, is that they focus heavily on the ‘tragic’ backstory of said character and the end-game motivations they have for him. Which in this case is the fact that they want to pair him up with other characters with their morality not being questioned. From what I’ve seen, that’s all they care about. They see an attractive character that they think has the potential to be paired with another, and they are upset that this attractive character has traits and behaviors that they are opposed to. Look, I know it sounds mean, but none of these fans would really care if the character was not attractive, charming, and easily paired with the female leads. That is the main motivation here.

I’m not saying they are not interested based on the character’s own merits and intrigue, they like to speculate about his past and childhood. But given the most popular depiction is him is with the female leads in a romantic sense, it is very obvious where the fans stand and why they are defensive of him. He’s attractive, he’s charming, he was really nice and chivalrous at first. But the reality here is that they are in love with who he is pretending to be. It honestly looks like the cases I deal with every day with real ASPD and Empath couples. The empath in the relationship is always making excuses for the sociopath, and I have indeed had cases where the empath denies the diagnosis. It’s really interesting to see this in behavior in fan spaces as well.  

Now, here’s the thing. I don’t really care about film representation. Most people I know who also have ASPD don’t care either. We don’t really care about the things that empaths place on a pedestal. We don’t care about role models or feeling accepted and represented. Empaths always make us out to be villains or funny anti-heroes because they can’t fathom our behaviors being used for good. It's a reality we face, especially in this day and age when feelings and being empathetic dominate the social world. There is no easy way to showcase a sociopath being a hero within empath standards. Our definition of a sociopath being a hero is getting what they want. Hans would be a great representation if he got what he wanted. Do I speak for everyone? No. But honestly, I question anyone who claims to be a sociopath and actually cares about empath’s feelings towards us, or bases their value on fictional characters like what empaths do. Especially since most people who have ASPD are not even diagnosed, they can’t exactly question a representation of something they don’t know that they have.

Let’s change gears towards the comments the director made. The critique you got was that there isn’t enough evidence to support a diagnosis of ASPD with Hans because the narrative doesn’t explicitly state it and we don’t know a lot about his past; so can’t make a genuine diagnosis. In most cases, that would be correct. However, the director makes it very clear that her intentions for the character was for him to be a sociopath. She wrote him with this intention and made sure to depict him in that way. Thus, we don’t need to see his childhood or even make a diagnosis based on his behavior. He is written and labeled as a sociopath, so he is one. End of story. Sure, we can critique how the depiction was handled, and even the motivations behind making him a sociopath, but it doesn’t change the facts of the character.

I went a little off track here, but I feel this needed to be said first and foremost. Let’s get back to the actual comments. She states that she has a sociopathic mind and that she was writing him based on these traits. She also stated later that Hans being sociopathic was more interesting. You can even see the excitement she has when the person she’s talking to says “he’s a talented Scoiopath” and she says “He’s very talented!” She loves this aspect of him. It's her pride and joy. She obviously thinks sociopaths are interesting and cool, to the point where she thinks she may have some traits. Here, we know her intention behind it was romanticization. Is it a bit weird? Yea. It’s weird. She's romanticizing a disorder so it's always weird. However, the depiction was still fairly accurate. Cartoony and villainized, but accurate.

Which I guess leads us to the actual depiction. He’s a very typical Sociopath. Not much else to say. He has the sociopath stare, he mirrors behavior, he hates that his brothers dared to ignore him, he jumps into danger without a second thought, and smiles when he’s about to commit murder on Elsa. It's kind of funny how accurate he is. It’s like watching a comedy show where they say something relatable and you can’t help but laugh. The director says that her stand-out moment for him was when he questions Anna’s comment of being ‘just her’. For me, it’s when he stands up after being knocked out by the blast, without even acknowledging that he’s in deep shit, and just says ‘but, she froze your heart!” I laughed so hard. Only sociopaths would do this shit. “Anna, how dare you. You should be dead.”

And that’s all I have to say. Thanks for reaching out, it was definitely entertaining and a nice break. Have a great day.

#frozen #Hans #Prince Hans #Helsa #opinions and commentary #greatqueenanna/analysis

[silver-scripts]

Lockyle: Only One Bed Preview

When confronted with the ~only two rooms~ debacle at Albury Castle in The Creeping Shadow, I'm sure I'm not the only one who immediately imagined a "only one bed" fic.

It's one of the projects I'm working on for nano and probably won't be edited until December, so here's a sneak peek :)

This isn't edited so sorry about any typos

The group of them stared at the two sets of keys in front of them.

Two.

“Well, personally I’m too tall to fit in a twin bed or on the couch, so I’ll be taking the room with the big bed,” Kipps said. He reached out to snag the key, and Lockwood lunged forwards as well. Evidently their old rivalry still went deep enough that neither of them was willing to concede to the other.

But there were two keys, and they each pulled away with one. The game changed.

Holly eyed George and then Kipps, calculating the odds. “Well I’m not sharing a bed, so I will be taking the cot,” she said quickly, taking a step towards Kipps. She slung her bag over her shoulder and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, smiling tightly. Kipps grabbed his kit bag and the two of them headed upstairs. A moment later, a door closed.

And then there were three.

George, Lockwood, and Lucy stood staring at each other. A breath passed, and George took his glasses off to clean them on the bottom of his shirt. Carefully, he replaced his glasses and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He teetered on his heals as if he was waiting for someone to say something.

“Well,” Lucy started. She wished, suddenly, that she hadn’t bitten her tongue and had asked Holly to split the twin. It would have made the most sense. And yet here she was now, resigned to taking the couch. She could already imagine how much her back was going to hurt in the morning. “I suppose it makes the most sense for me to-”

“I’m more than happy to take the couch,” George said simply. “Personally, I like my personal space. And I can’t imagine either of you would be rather fond of spending the night with me.” He smiled at them delightedly and grabbed his bags, heading off to plop down on the couch by the fire. “Have a good night!”

“Wait,” Lucy called. “You-”

But George had already disappeared, and she was alone with Lockwood.

If he was phased by the idea of having to spend the night with Lucy, he didn’t show it. Instead, his eyes sparkled the way they always did, and he sent her one of his signature grins. He grabbed both of their kit bags.

“Onwards,” he said, swinging the key merrily around his fingers. He headed for the stairs.

Lucy felt jittery in her skin, but she took a heavy breath and forced herself to follow him. Might as well get this over with.

Upstairs, Lockwood meticulously put the key in the lock. He turned it, and the door popped open with a resounding click. He nudged it open with his foot and dropped their kit bags just inside the door.

“Charming,” he said.

Lucy followed him inside. The room was smaller than she’d imagined — even smaller than her tiny room in the attic. There was just barely enough room to walk around the twin bed, which was fitted with a faded, brown, hand-made quilt. Matching nightstands adorned either side of the bed, and each was outfitted with a reading lamp and small bowls of lavender.

A fireplace stood at the foot of the bed, and its dusty mantle was lined with old, black and white photos of the town. An ancient, tarnished mirror hung above it, and Lucy stared at herself in the reflection.

Lockwood walked to the window and gave a curious peek outside. The night glittered back at him, and his eyes shone as he looked out at the town.

“Well Danny’s right about one thing,” he said simply. “There are quite a few ghosts out tonight. No sign of the so-called ‘Creeping Shadow’ though.”

“That’s not altogether surprising,” Lucy said.

Lockwood shrugged. “Maybe. But you never know. We can do all kinds of research tomorrow — I suspect the townsfolk will have quite a bit to say. In the meantime, we should probably get some sleep.” He stepped back from the window and ruffled through his bag on the floor, withdrawing a toothbrush and a set of pajamas. “Shall we?”

Lucy’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Of course,” she said quickly.

Lockwood stepped past her and into the hall, where he disappeared into the bathroom. She closed the door to their room behind him and locked it, that nervous feeling in her chest growing stronger. She pulled the over-sized t-shirt she always slept in out of her bag, suddenly aware of how ratty it was and how badly it probably needed a wash. Her pajama pants weren’t in much better shape. She changed quickly, feeling overly self-conscious about her choice of sleepwear.

Why should she care, anyways? She never cared when Lockwood saw her in the mornings — hair disheveled, teeth unbrushed, imprints from her pillow still on her cheek as she stumbled into the kitchen for tea and toast. This shouldn’t be any different.

There was a knock at the door, and Lucy opened the door to be greeted, unsurprisingly, by Lockwood. He held his suit folded neatly in his arms and had changed into a pair of neat white pajamas. “Bathroom is free,” he said, heading into the room. “You might want to get in there before George does. Or Kipps, god knows how long his nightly routine probably is. I imagine it takes a good amount of upkeep to prevent him from looking like a ghost himself every day.”

Lucy snorted. She gladly followed his advice and headed to brush her teeth — partially to get away from him, but also because she’d made the mistake of using the bathroom after George once, and it was safe to say it was not a mistake she was ever going to make again. Even the skull had wrinkled his nose at the odor, and he didn’t even have a sense of smell.

Teeth brushed, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and headed back into the bedroom. Lockwood had started a small fire while she was gone, and had turned off the main lights in the room. His reading lamp was on, and he was tucked beneath the bed covers already and had his nose buried in a local newspaper. When he had acquired it, Lucy had no idea.

“Erm,” she started awkwardly. “Would you prefer it if I took the floor?”

Lockwood looked up at her from the newspaper and blinked. “What?”

“Would you prefer it if I took the floor?” she repeated, motioning to it stupidly. “I’m sure I could drag down a pillow and blanket or something.”

“What are you talking about?” Lockwood asked. “Why on earth would you sleep on the floor?”

“Well…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re comfortable, is all.”

“Why should I ever feel uncomfortable in your presence?” Lockwood asked. “Anyways, I hope you don’t mind, but I started a fire. It was feeling a bit brisk in here.” He folded the newspaper over and tossed it onto the nightstand. “No offense to Aldbury Castle, but its news is incredibly dull. They haven’t even reported on any of the hauntings. Their front page news story is about how some farmer’s sheep went missing.” He huffed. “What’s the point of even having a newspaper if you’re not going to talk about anything important?”

Lucy snorted, thankful for his change of topic. “So getting into it isn’t one of your goals, then?”

He grinned. “I never said that.”

Shaking her head, Lucy closed the bedroom door behind her and stiffly slipped into bed. She pulled the covers high up over herself and turned to face away from Lockwood. It was a twin, so there wasn’t exactly much room to spare, but all the same she put as much space between the two of them as possible.

She felt Lockwood move, and a moment later his light switched off. “Good night, Lucy,” he said softly.

“Good night, Lockwood.”

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockyle #the creeping shadow #only one bed #my fanfic #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #save lockwood and co #fan fiction

[indigosabyss]

Senku in Narutoverse: Academy Days

(Note: Senku's name is Shiraishi Gaku bc of the reincarnation thing but he insists that his given name is Senku, so that's what Iruka calls him when not using his family one. And Kikumaru is Ukyo, he just doesn't tell anyone his old name.)

"This is the design for a standard shinobi explosion tag. Each one is handmade by professionals using specialized ink and- yes, Shiraishi?" There was only so long Iruka could ignore the frantically waving hand on the front row.

The new addition to the class stared up with wide eyes, "Why not just use stamps?"

"Because it needs to be imbued by chakra." Iruka prayed that he would be okay with that answer, but no such luck.

"Isn't chakra conductive material a thing?"

"Yes, but it changes the feel of the chakra."

"How?" He had at this point pulled out The Binder and was now flicking through it to make editions, "We can activate the tags by channeling chakra through other materials. And can you even quantify this feel? Is there a certain element to it that makes it human that filters out of chakra conductive material?? Have we considered-"

It was one of the boys behind him who groaned loudly, "No one cares, Senku!"

Shiraishi's mouth clicked shut, and Iruka looked firmly at the boy who yelled, "That wasn't very nice." He reprimanded, before adding on, "I'll try to answer your questions outside of class time. Right now, let's move on to history!"

Shiraishi Senku was an odd kid. Despite his undeveloped chakra coils and physical weakness, he was brought into the Academy specifically for his ability to create devices which mimicked justu.

When he had made that 'gun' device to get out of shuriken training (even though he had perfect accuracy anyways) most of the gossip had been that he was part-Nara. Smart and lethargic? Of course the rumors went around.

It was laughable to Iruka though. If anyone saw how worked up he got over science and nature, they'd know that Senku was the furthest thing from lethargic. When the topic at hand interested him.

"Can you please bring a little of that enthusiasm in this taijutsu class?" Iruka was almost begging him.

Senku glared him down mercilessly, "Playfighting doesn't excite me by one millimeter. Besides, we all know I'm going to be a research-nin, so I don't see why this is necessary."

"Because all graduates require you to participate in a certain number of taijutsu classes to graduate. And it's very demoralizing for your classmates to try and fight someone who isn't trying. At all."

Also Iruka was worried that he was going to get seriously hurt one day and yes, it was kinda pathetic to watch a fight with Senku in it.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Senku picked at his ear, radiating smugness, before looking behind him, "I'm allowed a proxy, right?"

Iruka followed his gaze, and realized he was looking at a younger chunin with bright white hair walking up to the Academy with a lump over his shoulder.

"Yo, Iruka." He balanced it on one hand to give him a wave. Iruka spared him a nod before looking at the annoyingly precocious kid in front of him.

"Senku, you can't let Kikumaru do your fights for you."

"Not him." Senku scoffed, but there was a glow in his eyes as Kikumaru set it down and undid the blanket.

It was a training dummy. The kind with posts on it that swiveled around when you hit them. Iruka felt skeptical, but waited as Senku held up a panel with a few tiny levers sticking out of it that was connected to the dummy with a wire.

He flipped one lever, and the topmost section of the dummy swung around, almost clocking Iruka across the head, if he hadn't pulled back in time.

He still felt stunned enough to have been hit, though.

"You made. A Puppet?" He asked, mind spinning.

Senku frowned, "No, it's a remote controlled-"

"He's referring to the Suna ninja art of Puppeteering." Kikumaru interjected.

Senku shrugged, "Then yeah, fine, it's a Puppet. Whatever."

Whatever. As if this wasn't a skill that took years and years of diligent study to perfect that he had managed to do in a few weeks. Because he didn't want to do taijutsu practice.

He needed to talk to someone about this.

#umino iruka #saionji ukyo #ishigami senku #dr stone #dcst #ibis ficlets #naruto #dcst x naruto

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

First meditation with Khaos, the vast void of space

Quick warnings: this is a pretty long post, but I'm using it as a way to record everything I remember happening during this meditation so it has things other than just what happened with Khaos! This is also actually originally written weeks ago, I just left it in my drafts for ages whoops.

Another note: I won't be using only she/her pronouns for Khaos in the future, although I don't think they give a singular fuck either way, I just am tired today and wanted to get this posted without having to edit it.

UPG disclaimer. Even the title is UPG, my personal associations with Khaos.

So, I had things to do and decided I wanted to have a proper chat with Loki about it. I started up my meditation music, grabbed whatever crystals felt right, and laid down.

One of the first things they did was hug me. I am someone who has issues with receiving love, and this caught me entirely off guard. Of course I go "wtf bitch you can't do that???" And he basically told me something along the lines of "fuck you I do what I want." (Note: Loki is deeply salty that I cannot remember their actual wording, as it did not have the boundary breaking "I hug you if I want no matter your thoughts on it" implications this wording does. Loki is big on boundaries being respected with me. I feel the need to write that down.)

But we chatted about a spell I was planning, and Loki- who promptly draped himself across a couple logs all dramatically- was very enthusiastic about helping. We went back and forth, I also brought up Apollo to say hello, and then I felt... someone on the edge of things. Apollo was pretty abruptly gone, which makes sense for reasons I'll explain in a moment.

Loki stepped beside me, and sort of had their arm over my shoulders in a distinctly protective manner. Thing is, nothing felt malicious, and I asked them why the hell they seemed so protective when I felt perfectly safe. They explained that I was safe, but "she's pretty fucking intimidating so you might need someone to keep you steady."

Enter Khaos. I realized it was her because instead of a humanoid, or even recognizable form, suddenly within the protected astral space I go when I meditate (I'll just call it "homespace" from now on) is this massive fucking orb of void.

Except this is much bigger, and the orb I was met with was only... "half" of one. Like it'd been sliced, a few solid chunks cut out, like when a video game renders wrong and certain chunks won't load. I actively tried to imagine it as whole, to change it- it wouldn't budge. When I took the above screenshot as a reference, seeing how tiny my character was compared to the in-game thing that I compared Khaos to, it brought a whole new meaning to Loki's explanation as to why it was only half of an orb.

"She's trying not to scare you."

Loki assured me that they would be with me the whole time, that we were not leaving homespace and the orb was completely within the protection of homespace, and we walked in. It was pitch black, void all around, and I could see Loki as if he was lit up in the middle of day but that was it. Khaos came out of the void, sort of appearing out of the "wall" of darkness- being formed from it herself as if it were liquid. I asked her what she had to say.

She looked at me, just smiled, and said "good luck."

I admit, I laughed. I pointed out that THAT sounded ominous as hell. I knew what she meant- she was genuinely wishing me luck, since I have a lot of growth ahead of me and working with her is going to be a pretty big deal for me. But at the time, I couldn't help but laugh. Later, when I was recounting this to my mom, I got a very clear image of hands of darkness holding a bright orb of light. Offering it to me. It wasn't just wishing me luck. It was a gift.

Not long after that, I was suddenly made more aware of my physical body in the form of an ant crawling across me. I got the ant off of me, and went back- only to find that I couldn't just go back to the void we were standing in. Loki met me where we originally had started, and confirmed that I wasn't able to go into her space uninvited. I told them I couldn't go through the process of getting further into a meditative state and walking back into the void, and they said it was okay.

And I swear to you, I'm not fucking with you when I say this is exactly what was said next.

Me: "So... It's so interesting- Is the only way to talk to her to go into the void, be consumed by her energy entirely?"

Khaos, suddenly behind me: "Sort of, but not entirely no."

Me, finding out that my startle reflex is just as bad in the astral: "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST-"

Khaos: "No." (As in no, she's not Jesus. /Lh I just feel like it might not be clear!)

You guys. She wasn't even trying to be funny. I adore Khaos already I'm gonna have a fucking great time.

#frog's writing #meditation journal #khaos deity #witchcraft #witchblr #paganism #pagan witch #pagan #witch community #paganblr #eclectic pagan #deity work #witch blog #khaos

[tw1nklet03s]

ballpit | colby brock x fem!reader

WARNINGS- baby cuteness, colby being a cute dad, some swearing.

SUMMARY- this is based off of the video where elton made a ballpit except colby has a girlfriend (you) and a newborn daughter. but they all still live in the trap house.

this is a long one!!!

𝑦／𝑛 𝑝𝑜𝑣

i was laying on the bed with mine and colby’s two day old daughter, amanda, while colby was editing a video next to us on our bed.

we were just sitting there and elton comes running up the stairs, telling me, colby and sam to come downstairs and look at something.

“here we go, no giant hands elton, im holding my baby” colby yells as he takes amanda.

“no it’s not a prank” he yells back.

we walk downstairs and there is a bouncy house in what used to be the living room. it filled the whole roof. colby went to go on it, still holding the baby.

“colby please be careful, boys look out for amanda” i tell all the boys as they all get on it.

“don’t worry y/n, we’ll watch out for her” aaron tells me as he gently lays a hand on her small legs.

“yeah yeah, don’t be a fucking idiot about it” i giggle at the accent he does.

“yo aaron, can you quickly hold her, i wanna bounce on my back” colby asks as he starts handing her to him.

“sure man, hewo wittwe wittwe baby, oh your so cute, she’s adorable” he says in a baby voice, then changes it to a weird woman’s voice.

“yeah, she is, now hand her back to her dada” colby says laying on his back.

“colby be careful, please, she’s tiny compared to all you guys, and much more fragile” i say watching colby lay her on his chest.

“come join us y/n” sam tells me as he comes to the edge i was standing at.

“i don’t know, i’m still tired, and so is she so i might bring her for a nap” i say looking at colby, he is softly patting her back, and she is slowly starting to fall asleep.

“come on baby, just for a few minutes” colby pleads looking at me.

“fine, just a few minutes, then i’m taking her with me for a nap” i say hopping in, going over to colby.

“ok, i’ll come with yous” he says looking down at amanda as she makes cute baby noises while sleeping.

she eventually goes into a deep sleep and me and colby go up to our room. on the way up the stairs we can hear the guys giggling as they jump.

“are you going to sleep baby” he asks as he hands her to me, to take his shirt off.

“yeah, i’m so tired” i say yawning.

“come here baby” he says laying down on our bed.

i walk over to our bed after laying the sleeping baby in her crib. i lay down and colby instantly pulls me close to him. i hum in satisfaction as i nuzzle my face in his neck.

“you ok baby” he asks as i start sniffling.

“no, i’m in so much fucking pain in my vagina, im so emotional about every fucking thing, im always so tired, then i get horny, but there’s no point telling you cause i can’t have sex yet, i bearly want to go out, and i love our daughter, but she cries so much, and my nipples fucking hurt like a bitch” i sob while sitting up.

“aw baby, why didn’t you just tell me all this, i want to help you so much more than i do, but i don’t exactly know what to help you with. yes i know i help with the baby, but what exactly would you like me to do with her instead of you” he says taking my hands, looking into my eyes.

“breastfeeding” i say bluntly.

“ok baby, maybe something that’s actually physically possible for me to do” he says chuckling.

“i don’t know colbyyyy” i whine while laying down on his lap.

“ok, how about this. for the next two weeks, you rest, as much as you can. i’ll wake up and get her when she cries, i’ll feed her, meaning you’ll have to pump into bottles. i’ll change her diapers” he says rubbing my hair, making me inch closer to a peaceful slumber.

“that’s too much baby, i can do things, i sw-“

“no baby, that’s what’s happening. nothings changing my mind” he cuts me off.

“i love you so much, i don’t think i could do this without you” i say sitting up to hug him, tightly.

“i love you too, forever and ever” he says kissing my temple.

he lays us down as i yawn, cradling me in his arms as i sleep peacefully. he soon falls into a deep slumber.

sᴋɪᴘ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ʜᴏᴜʀs

𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑏𝑦’𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑣

i woke up to the sound of amanda crying. i look over at her crib and notice she is awake. i slowly get up, careful not to wake up y/n. i walk over to her crib and pick her up, gently.

“hey baby, what’s the matter, you wake up hungry” i say softly while rocking her. her cries turned into tiny whines, into little coos.

i walk out of the room, going to the kitchen. i open the fridge to see a bottle of breastmilk, y/n already pumped earlier today.

“hey bro, she wake up hungry, just like her dad half the time” sam asks, walking into the kitchen.

“yeah, just like dada” i say putting some water in a pot, after handing her to sam.

“she’s so beautiful man, i can’t wait till me and katrina are ready for one” he says smiling down at his tiny goddaughter.

“thanks bro, trust me, it’s worth it” i say patting his back, lightly.

“hey y’all, this like a dadas meeting” corey jokes as he walks into the kitchen. “oh sorry ma’am, didn’t see ya. dada, plus cute adorable tiny baby brock meeting” he says after noticing her, in sams arms.

“yeah dude, i was just telling him how it’s so worth having a baby” i say smiling at corey’s joke.

“oh shit, sam wants a baby” corey says looking at sam.

“not quite yet, but yeah eventually” he responds looking down at amanda.

“true god” corey says taking amanda after sam offered her to him.

“hey guys, colby just letting you know, we’re having a party tonight, but i promise it’s baby friendly and the music won’t be blasting” elton says walking into the kitchen as i put the bottle in the water.

“ok, thanks bro” i say as i take amanda back, cause she was getting fussy.

once she goes silent and completely fine, everyone looks at me with wide eyes and their mouths open.

“what, you’ve never seen a baby stop crying” i ask chuckling lightly.

“no, she’s a huge daddy’s girl already” elton says, laughing.

“no she is not” i say making a face.

“she totally is, it would take any other parent at least twenty minutes to calm their newborns down, she was in your hand for less than a second and she’s just chill” corey says smiling but seeming confused.

“ok, maybe she is” i say smiling down at the little mix of me and the love of my life, staring up at me with her finger on her chin, like she was thinking.

“what’s she thinking about” sam jokes. and that’s when we find out.

she shit. great. she was thinking about weather or not to put her dad through hell and shit herself, cause i have to change her. and she did. i quickly test the milk temperature, and it’s just right. so i take that with us and change her.

after changing her, we all went to the living room. i was feeding her, her bottle, while me and the boys watched spongebob. yes, spongebob.

“baby” i hear y/n yell out, worry in her voice.

“the living room baby” i reply back.

she walks in with the same face she always has when she’s sleeping and when she wakes up. i angry face. her lips plump, eyebrows furrowed. she comes and sits next to me and lays into my side.

we watch some more tv, till it was time to get ready.

𝑦／𝑛 𝑝𝑜𝑣

me, colby and amanda walked upstairs to get ready for the party. for amanda i just chose a simple onesie that was short sleeve, considering it was extremely hot and just some plain black socks. i chose a t-shirt, shorts and some airforces. colby was wearing a black t-shirt that tightly fit him, some bleached shorts and his bandana airforces.

we all walked downstairs and everyone was staring at us. they all watched us as we walked around, mainly cause everyone loved amanda. usually she would be passed around by now, but colby’s got her in his arms and he doesn’t like anyone but the people who live here, holding her much.

“have fun tonight baby” colby said to me.

“y/n, get over here, we need your music” of course. i was always the music person, i have”the best playlists ever” according to many. i think their just ok. not amazing.

(the playlist is at the bottom if your interested, it is a mixture of all kinds of songs that remind me of colby)

i connect to the small speaker, but still big enough for everyone to hear it. my playlist starts playing and hotel by montell fish, starts playing. (pretend it was out then)

everyone cheers. i love this song so much. i walk over to colby to see he gave amanda to katrina. thank fuck. i walk over to him and hook my finger on his chain, leading him to where everyone’s dancing.

i start swaying my hips on him, slowly. he grunts and stuffs his face in my neck, slowly kissing it. i let out a moan and scoot my ass back onto him. he groans and grips my waist.

“keep doing that baby, and i just might not give a shit about weather or not i can fuck you. i’ll be sure to put another baby in there” he says in my ear while humping me.

“do it….daddy” i say turning my head and kissing him hard.

“y/n, colby, she won’t stop crying” katrina says rushing over to us, making us pull apart quickly from our make out.

“fuck, ok, i’m going to bed anyways, she can come with me” i say taking her from katrina’s arms.

“you can stay baby, i want to get some sleep anyways, i love you” i say giving colby a kiss before going upstairs.

“your really keeping me from living, aren’t you little one” i say, sighing.

she only squeaks and mumble in return. i lay her down on the bed, before going to remove my shorts. until the door opens, i turn around to see its colby. i sigh and continue taking my shorts off.

“why aren’t you down there” i ask, hugging his big torso. (let’s just pretend the party went on fo awhile before katrina gave amanda back)

“mike and kevin were fighting, so elton sent everyone home” he said, before amanda squeals, getting our attention.

“hi baby, look at you, all smiling while laying on momma and dadas bed, you cheeky baby” colby says laying on his stomach, lifting his chest, so he doesn’t squash her tiny feet.

she only squeals again, making me giggle. colby also chuckles and lays his head on her stomach, giving her the opportunity to grip his hair.

“ow, babe, please, she’s got my hair” he yells while she yanks on it.

“hey, little monster baby, leave dadas perfect hair alone” i giggle while getting his hair out of his grip.

after that we did our things we had to do and went straight to bed.

sᴋɪᴘ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴅᴀʏs

the ballpit was ballpit was still there. but amanda enjoyed it so, not complaining.

#colby x reader #dad!colby #colby brock

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 32

So, I am not sure about one word in it that I used correctly 'scheme' and google did not help me as it mostly translated it to plan. So still hope after re-reading and editing it, that it still fits in.

Masterlist

Chapter 32: Tricky mission

Hunter's enhanced senses picked up on the approaching Republic transport, and his instincts immediately went on high alert. He turned toward the others, who were making their way to the hangar exit, and spoke in a hushed but urgent tone. "Wait a minute, something doesn't feel right about that transport. It's small, but there's something off."

Crosshair narrowed his eyes, scanning the hangar's entrance. "Off how? Like she is in there?" Hunter couldn't put his finger on it, but his instincts rarely led him astray. "I don't know yet, but most likely it will be her. Let's hold off for a moment and see who comes out of it."

The squad paused, their curiosity piqued as the small transport ship descended and landed with a soft thud. The ramp lowered, and two figures in in tunics disembarked. After lowering their hoods to see two familiar faces Jedi Master Amanda Pacem, accompanied by her Mon Calamari Padawan, Alma. Amanda's presence brought a mix of relief and unease to the squad. They knew the connections to Tech and Orion is delicate, and now she was here on Kamino.

Tech, still inside the Havoc Marauder with a now calming Orion, had no knowledge of the approaching visitors. He continued his attempts to soothe his distressed son, unaware of the unfolding situation in the hangar. Tech, focused entirely on Orion, held his son close and whispered soothing words. He was vaguely aware of the change in Orion's cries, the sudden stop in his wailing, but at the moment, his attention was solely on calming his distressed child. Momentarily forgetting the exchange he had with Amanda. All he wants right now is for Orion to be okay.

Outside, the squad watched as Amanda and Alma talked quietly, how the Master probably explains something to her Padawan. Crosshair, always alert, ha a hunch that something was amiss. "Hunter, something doesn't feel right. Amanda showing up here now, it's too coincidental." Hunter nodded, his hands resting on his hips. "Yeah, you do not need my senses to pick that up… But all stay on your guard. We don't know why she's here, but we'll have find out." “Did Tech say why she was coming?” Wrecker asks. “No but as we can hear Orion stopped crying.” Crosshair states in his usual sarcastic tone, toothpick between his lips.

As the engines give of the familiar sound of being turned down, they can see how Lama Su approaches to greet Amanda and Alma. “Echo, go tell Tech to stay in the ship.” “On it.” With that Echo turns to enter the ship. Tech felt torn. The thought of being so close to Amanda, yet unable to leave the ship with Orion, was like a vibroknife in his chest. He looked down at his son, who had quieted but still clung to him with tiny, trembling hands. "Echo, I should be out there," he said softly but firm. Echo gave him a sympathetic look. "I know, Tech. But orders are orders and please, they are from Hunter. We'll keep an eye on things out here. You take care of Orion."

As Echo left to re-join the others, Tech couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration and worry. He turned his attention back to Orion, cradling him gently. "It's just you and me for now, little one," he whispered, trying to still offer comfort. Even if it is also more for himself. Tech managed to get a glimpse of Amanda through the cockpit viewport after he quickly went back there, though it was from a distance. His heart ached with longing as he watched her, wishing he could be by her side, even just for a moment. As Lama Su spoke to Amanda, Tech activated the ship's communication system, hoping to hear her voice. He held Orion close, as if sharing the moment with his son. Amanda's voice came through faintly, and Tech strained to listen. Tweaking easily on a few settings.

"Master Pacem," Lama Su's words were polite and diplomatic, "we understand the importance of your mission. We can provide troopers and medics to assist you in rebuilding the Jedi Temple and aiding the citizens of Callo." Tech listened intently, hoping that Amanda's response would be positive, but also knowing that their situation was delicate, especially with Orion in the picture. Amanda's voice remained composed, but Tech could sense a hint of frustration in her words. "Prime Minister Lama Su, I appreciate your willingness to assist in the rebuilding efforts, but I must admit I find it puzzling that I had to be called here in person for such a request. Surely, with your extensive resources and knowledge, you could have selected the most suitable clones and dispatched them to Callo without my presence?"

Lama Su nodded diplomatically, "Master Pacem, we hold your expertise in high regard, and we believe that your presence will ensure that the reconstruction efforts go smoothly. It is our way of demonstrating our commitment to the Jedi Order and the Republic. We get paid to provide the best." Tech could sense the tension in the conversation, and he wished there was something he could do to support Amanda from afar. He glanced down at Orion, who was fidgeting in his arms, seemingly picking up on the unease in the air.

Amanda's voice remained firm as she clarified, "Prime Minister Lama Su, I appreciate your confidence in my abilities. While healing is my primary focus, I understand that the situation may require additional skills. However, I must emphasize that my responsibilities on Callo, particularly with my Padawan, are of utmost importance. It is essential that we maintain a presence there." Alma, her Padawan, added with enthusiasm, "My Master is not just a healer; she's an exceptional combatant as well. We've handled difficult situations together, and her skills extend beyond the medical field!" Amanda looks amused down at her enthusiastic Padawan, her hand finding the familiar feeling when moving it over Alma’s head and playing with the chain of beads. “Thank you Alma.” Alma just grins up at Amanda, knowing that the touch is meant to ground her and her Master as well. “The bond between Master and Padawan.” Lama Su regarded Amanda thoughtfully, his eyes locked onto hers. Amanda's striking blue eyes seemed to intrigue him, and he pondered their conversation carefully.

Alma's grey big round eyes lit up as she spotted Clone Force 99 nearby. She tugged at Amanda's sleeve, excitement in her voice. "Master, look, it's Clone Force 99! They helped us when we were dealing with that Separatist barricade. Can I go say hello?" Amanda moved her hand reassuringly on Alma's shoulder, her blue eyes softening. "Not now, Alma. This is an important meeting, and we need to stay focused." Deep down, though, Amanda couldn't help but feel the comforting presence of Tech and their son, Orion. She knew they were on the Havoc Marauder, nearby but out of sight, she felt them. It was a bittersweet sensation, a reminder of the family she longed to be reunited with, and yet it felt like balm to her very being.

Lama Su continued to discuss the logistics of providing troopers and medics to assist in rebuilding the Jedi Temple on Callo, but Amanda's thoughts kept drifting to the ship and the two people who meant the galaxy to her, even if she couldn't see them right now. As Lama Su motioned for Amanda and Alma to follow him, he spoke in a casual tone, "Master Pacem, I couldn't help but notice your striking blue eyes. They are quite unique." Amanda offered a polite smile, but her mind raced. She knew that her blue eyes were a distinctive trait, one that had already drawn attention from the Kaminoans as of now. She wondered if this had anything to do with why she was summoned to Kamino, and her thoughts immediately went to Tech and Orion, hidden away on the Havoc Marauder. Was this some scheme? Tech did broach the topic of the Kaminoans starting to dig, what they both knew will happen. At least they hoped with her being a Jedi, she would not fall into focus.

Chapter 33

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @aalizazareth @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter

I will now probably start to add down here, the bits I usually shared at the start. So sick again, throat gives up. Due to health issiues I tend to get sick more often or harder, but used to it. Anyhow tomorrow is another day. Plus while now on my laptop posting, one of my cats tries to eat my smartwatch? Or clean it with her drooling lips :P

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #clone force 99 #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #bad batch tech #daddy tech #the dad batch #the uncle batch #tech as a father #tech and orion #tech x oc #tech fanfic #tech fanfiction #tech fluff #star wars the clone wars #the bad batch tech x reader #star wars #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #the clone wars #kamino