#this is the one photo like this. just a little boy in the midst of a life-changing shift.

[aliosne]

Selfies ca. late 50s

[witchyafterdark]

— Ominis Gaunt Headcanons; pt. 3

• The Pros and Cons of being with him •

This post has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time now, and was supposed to be the second installment of my previous post about Sebastian! Nevertheless, here it is. I've thought about this one a little bit harder than the other since it's my boy Ominis. All photos used are not mine, and all credits to their respective owners.

・❥・ PROS

He is the most empathetic, compassionate, thoughtful, and caring man you'll ever be with.

Most people need to be taught how to have compassion towards others, or that an example needed to be shown in order for them to learn. But with Ominis, this is something inborn. Empathy is nestled deep inside his bones, and it will be very difficult for anyone to make him act out of alignment from his true caring nature.

He is tremendously protective of you, and by extension, those you consider very close to you.

One of the many ways he demonstrates his devotion to you is by means of providing you with protection. Understandably, he knows that you aren't some damsel who needs help all the time. That's why he discreetly protects you when you need it the most; which are during the times you do not see the danger you're about to encounter, or are already in the midst of.

Quite ironic, he sees certain social situations leagues ahead of you, given his aristocratic upbringing, and can definitely read between the lines of people's intentions toward you. He will immediately step in — with practiced grace mixed with lethality — and eradicate any threat that looms over you before you even begin to notice anything amiss.

By extension, he is also very attuned to your emotional states, physical needs, and mental processes.

You wouldn't have to worry about being with someone who doesn't know how to understand you in ways you want to be understood because that couldn't be further from the truth with Ominis. One of the factors that make him a good partner is that he would actually get to know you before being with you. He took the time to learn your patterns and behaviors, and he genuinely studied you thoroughly in hopes of doing right by you.

Therefore, being in a relationship with him means he truly knows he can be a good match for you, as he doesn't want to waste both of your time. He understands when you're stressed, and would do anything in his power to alleviate your pains. And he knows when to step back and give you your personal space to figure things out by yourself.

Surprisingly, he has a mischievous and adventurous spirit in his heart, and he knows how to keep the fun alive between you two.

Being born blind, he has been told endlessly by his punitive family that he would most likely amount to nothing in his life without their illustrious influence and infamous reputation. But ever the rebel, Ominis wanted to prove to himself that their words hold no significance in his ability to live life to the fullest. To your pleasant surprise, he is much more lively and playful once you truly get to know him and he lets go of all his defenses! He isn't Anne and Sebastian's oldest friend for nothing; he knows a plethora of ways to rebel, bask in the moments of fun and adventure, and get into the occasional mischief to feed the need for a little adrenaline rush. Most people would probably consider him a boring and rigid person to be with, but he's just waiting for the right one to share the joy and happiness with.

Ominis is one of the bravest and most loyal people you'll ever get the chance to be with, whether for friendship or romantic relationship. You'll get to enjoy certain... perks of being with him. And he's more than willing to ensure your comfort and satisfaction as his partner.

Simply put, he has no qualms in waving his family name around to protect and preserve the peace around him — and that includes making sure you're safe, unbothered, and given the same special privileges as he has. Rest assured that once he made up his mind that he wants to be with you, you wouldn't have to worry if he's thinking of anybody else besides you. Everyone will know that he is yours, but most importantly, everyone will know you're his. and he's not embarrassed to say he is with you. In fact, he revels in it; albeit, more privately. While he does want people to know that he is off the market, he loathes the notion of people getting to know what goes on with your relationship with him. He's still a private person at the end of the day.

Behind closed doors, he is the most affectionate, touchy, and loving man you'll ever know.

Ominis is the kind of person that is sensitive to the energies of other people. He is sensitive like that, and for good reason. He can "read" the room perfectly without the need for sight. And so, he would definitely know simply by the sound of your heavy footsteps that you've had a tiring, rough day. Wordlessly, he would have the initiative to cook dinner for you, prepare you a hot bath, not forgetting to lay your night clothes on your bed, and caressing your hair to send you to sleep as you lay secure in his warm embrace at night. He also knows when you just need time alone to be by yourself, and tend to your own needs without him in the picture.

Nevertheless, you wouldn't even think of him as someone that needs to be "coached" into being a good partner — he has that naturally built into his personality.

╭━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━╮

・❥・ CONS

Due to his unstable upbringing, he is actually the most possessive person you've ever met... worse that Sebastian.

It is known that Ominis is a very closed-off person. He is very difficult to win over, let alone befriend and to romance. When he was a child, every family connection his father had made was exploited to the bone. Those people would unwittingly feel honored to be acquainted to the Gaunts that they would most likely do anything to win their favor. Ominis' father once taught him that the people around him was supposed to obey him out of respect for their ancient, noble lineage.

Therefore, once Ominis lets you into his life, he unconsciously views you as his possession; someone that must remain in his life, unless he deems otherwise.

During arguments, he would not back down, and would sound punitive at times.

Having to fight for his life — quite literally — at the hands of his cruel family, Ominis has learned that using his words can equally be as destructive as combative magic. His usual sarcastic quips are one of his normal defense mechanisms. But if you're engaged in an argument with him, especially when he knows he is right, best believe he will not hold back. You will get your feelings and pride and dignity hurt. He will lay out the truth no holds barred. He will make you understand why he knows best, and that you should just listen.

After what happened during fifth year with Sebastian, he's had absolutely enough with giving people the benefit of the doubt. Once he made up his mind about a certain topic, good luck trying to change his mind now.

If you are rumored to have been getting closer to another man, best believe he will be taken care of as soon as possible. You won't see that man ever again. (He isn't a Gaunt for nothing).

As far as he's concerned, the only type of friends you need in your life are those he knows of; Poppy Sweeting, Natsai Onai, and perhaps even Imelda Reyes. Sebastian can be part of your circle but even that he is wary of. But if he so hears about other men trying to be close to you (even as your relationship with him is already public knowledge), or you're in the process of entertaining the possibility of being with other men, he will get them out of the picture by the end of the week.

He is not afraid of twisting the truth, fabricating lies and offenses that those men seemingly committed, and falsifying being a witness to a breach of magical protocol just to send them on their merry way. You'll be confused as to how and why these men just keep on getting questioned by magical authorities but you'll be none the wiser about his involvement.

Speaking of, no matter how hard he tries to undo all the conditioning he was put through as a child, his Gaunt tendencies tend to rear its ugly head when he feels out of control, or threatened in any way.

This one is something he does not want you to know. It's one of his deepest, darkest secrets that he tries to bury underneath his caring and compassionate efforts of becoming a better man. Some days, it truly gets the best of him, especially when he perceives that he is not being taken seriously, or that things around him are getting out of control. Being someone without sight (that is also a Gaunt), having absolute control of his surroundings is something he needs to feel safe and secure. Without it, it's as if he is wandless — holding his hands up in front of him like when he was a helpless child.

And so, if he perceives petulance on your part, in spite of him exercising patience, he will resort to intimidation and manipulation. He doesn't need to exert physical force to make you understand exactly what he is capable of if you keep up with your actions.

(There's a reason why Dominis is a thing to begin with. People know he is capable of it!)

Once you're with him, there's no backing out. He won't allow it. You are his.

When you agreed to accept his courtship, he understood it as a mutual agreement that this is not something casual in nature. You are not with him to waste his time, as he wouldn't want to waste yours. The decision to court you was not made on a whim. He realizes the potential of a great and fruitful romantic partnership with you. Therefore, in his mind, you need to validate his assumptions about you. You need to prove that he was right about you.

Of course, he will subtly guide you through the stages of your relationship in order to fit his narrative as he intended. He will mold you to be the person of his dreams, and will give you whatever you want that is within his power. You'd do well to be grateful and acknowledge that through your cooperation.

And if you ever break his heart by being with someone else behind his back, he will make sure you will pay for it... one way or another.

╭━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━╮

So, do the pros outweigh the cons for you?

[pucksandpower]

Charles Leclerc x Wolff!Reader x Max Verstappen - Social Media AU

Little (Ferrari) Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad She Wolff

Love is in the air for these two stars of the paddock! Brace yourselves as we spill the scorching hot tea on the newest potential pairing that has set tongues wagging. The grapevine is buzzing with the latest snapshots capturing none other than Ferrari’s golden boy, Charles Leclerc, and the stunning princess of the paddock, Y/N Wolff, in what can only be described as a romantic rendezvous. Oh la la! In these sizzling photos the duo can be seen cozied up in the VIP section, captivated by each other’s company and stuck in their own world, ignorant of the busy club around them. The obvious sparks between the young heartthrobs leave fans and gossip hounds wondering if there is more than just friendship brewing between them … (Read More)

A Wolff on the Prowl: Y/N Wolff spotted getting cozy with Max Verstappen

Hold onto your racing helmets because our newest racing romance just took an unexpected twist! We had barely caught our breath from the sizzling chemistry between Charles Leclerc and Y/N Wolff when another speedster entered the picture. Some lucky fans caught Y/N locking lips with the reigning world champion, Max Verstappen, leaving us all in a state of utter shock and awe. It’s a tale as old as time, with Y/N and Max gazing into each other’s eyes like they have discovered the key to the podium of love. The intensity between these two is palpable and their beaming smiles suggest that this could be more than just a passing fling. Will this newfound affair send shockwaves through F1, leaving Charles Leclerc heartbroken and fans breathless? Buckle up, dear readers, as we brace ourselves to see how this unfolds … (Read More)

y/nwolff posted a story

Just an inchident? Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen seem closer than ever despite their apparent battle for the heart of Y/N Wolff

Rev your engines because the race for Y/N Wolff’s heart is reaching exhilarating speeds! While the rivalry between Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen is as fierce as ever on the track, it seems that outside of the race itself a surprising bond has formed between these two young stars. Interestingly, during the Austrian Grand Prix cameras caught Leclerc and Verstappen sharing an incredibly close friendship. Despite their fierce competition for Y/N’s affection earlier this week, the two drivers were spotted laughing, hugging, and inseparable whenever they had a chance, proving that friendship can indeed thrive in the midst of romantic tension. Are they genuinely defying expectations and putting their hearts on hold for the sake of camaraderie or is this just a cleverly orchestrated PR move? Only time will reveal the true nature of this intriguing friendship and love triangle they are part of … (Read More)

y/nwolff

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 1,285,493 others

y/nwolff Happy Pride Month 😉

View all 4,762 comments

charles_leclerc mes amours ❤️

maxverstappen1 mijn liefdes ❤️

y/nwolff my boy toys 🥵

charles_leclerc i see how it is

maxverstappen1 she only wants us for our bodies

y/nwolff kidding, kidding. i love you both more than anything ❤️

y/nwolff and of course i don’t only want you for your bodies … i want you for your cars too

mercedesamgf1 Oh

redbullracing My

scuderiaferrari God

feralferrari this is not what i was expecting

givesyouwings i don’t think anyone predicted this but they are adorable together

silverarrows y/n has the power to build one of the most insane driver lineups ever for mercedes

y/nwolff they have to survive meeting my dad after he learns that we’re together before we can even think about that 😅

lestappenbeliever this is the best day of my life

formulanone we got married a week ago?

lestappenbeliever i said what i said but our wedding was a close second

[cofigelly]

ೀ SIX EYES

——————————————————————————pairing; college au!gojo satoru x reader

synopsis; you couldn’t help but notice a pair of wandering eyes during your 10am lecture

word count; ~2k words

contents; sfw, f!reader, no curses au, rich college student gojo, cocky/playful gojo, six eye/infinity references

notes; THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUICK LIL DRABBLE IDK WHAT HAPPENED? i <3 run ons and sentence fragments apparently

——————————————————————————

the first thing you noticed about him were his eyes.

well, technically, his eyes noticed you first.

in the midst of your monday 10am lecture (known for its lengthy, soul-wrenching talks about finance), you felt his sharp gaze pierce straight into your soul. it was a brief, quick glance — but it was an intentional glance, nonetheless.

you simply brushed it off. it must’ve been him zoning out, or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. that was until you caught him repeating the same habit again. and again. over the course of the next three weeks.

that same, hungry gaze, taking in every intricacy of your features. a look that felt like it set your entire body on fire, despite the icy blue hue his pupils reflected each time you returned a glance. his stare would only last a few seconds at most, but something about it felt so intense, so overbearing— it made hold your breath each time.

in all honesty, you didn't mind the attention. in fact, you kind of reveled in it — a handsome, 6'3 guy always ogling at you every lecture. it even had you thinking that maybe he was into you?

but that was at first. as more weeks passed, the more your ego shrank. 'is there something on my face,' you wondered, patting at your cheeks to search for some sort of makeup residue or food crumb, 'do i look stupid?' the large, echoey lecture hall felt evermore revealing as you struggled to find a way to shrink into your plastic-clad seat. but you couldn't hide, not from a stare like that.

paranoia getting the best of you, you slide your phone out of your pocket as you send a hasty text to your best friend, “bro who is this guy? he keeps staring at me EVERY lecture,” you send a 0.5x photo, clearly taken from afar.

just as quickly, your friend responds, “NO FUCKIN WAY is that gojo???” “who the fuck is gojo?”

you could almost feel her attitude burst through the text bubbles, “bro… GOJO. his family is literally loaded?? did you not see his dad surpass bill gates on the global ranking of billionaires?” that text takes you a little by surprise, alternating your eyes between him and the message upon your screen. “okay maybe it’s starting to sound familiar, but still. what’s he doing cosplaying as a broke college kid in my finance class?” you sigh as you continue to tap on your screen, “idgaf that he’s loaded it’s pissing me off that he’s staring at me like 🧿🫦🧿 every lecture.”

your friend reacts with a quick “haha” to your text before responding, “idk man maybe you just caught the attention of the richest guy on campus ;)”

you decided you’ve had enough after reading that text. you’re not about to feed your delusions this early on a monday morning. you’ll admit, he’s a good —no, stunning— looking guy, but you have no time to babysit a boy who was never taught that staring was rude. not to mention, this boy isn't even in the same tax bracket as you. 

brushing it off yet another time, you let out a deep sigh as you flip the page, copying your professor’s notes on the board.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

a whole month has passed and this gojo guy is growing more and more cocky with his stolen glances. he's not even trying to hide it anymore.

this fateful wednesday, as you walk into class, he immediately locks onto you. his bright blue orbs follow you from the door to your row, not releasing his gaze in the slightest after you settle into your seat. your grit your teeth in annoyance as you flip through your notebook pages. who does this guy think he is? it’s been a month and he hasn’t even procured the balls to say a single word to you. yet, he’s feasting on you like you’re his final meal on death row. 

the second the class is excused, you immediately beeline towards his seat — stopping in front of his leaning frame while he packs his bag. “dude, what the hell is your problem,” scowling at him as you approach, “i’ve seen you stare at me for weeks now and it’s getting straight creepy."

his ears perk at the sound of your voice, haphazardly zipping up the final pocket of his backpack. when he looks up, his eyes glint with a hint of mischief as he scrunches his nose in a grin — a grin that’s somehow even cockier than his stare.

“i’m just taking in the view, princess,” he jeers, delight in his tone. 

you stare at him incredulously as you take his confession in. so he really has been staring at you? “for one, i’m not your princess," you scoff at his clear disregard of your concern, "second, you might want to think again before you decide to stare at me one more damn time.”

he hums amusingly, shaking his foot in a steady rhythm, “you’re right. i might think about it again.” his grin is even wider now, “why, what are you going to do about it?”

“—look, i don’t know what you’re getting at,” your eyebrows furrow deeper, “but if you keep this shit up, this won’t be the last time you hear from me.”

briskly, you swing around, completely ignoring his bickers as you head straight out the hallway door. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

to gojo, everything you said on wednesday was music to his ears.

he strolled into the next lecture, on monday, with the same shit-eating grin on his face. ‘this wont be the last time he hears from you?' god, he hopes that was true. it made him wonder why he didn’t just stare at you harder in the first place.

everything about you captivated gojo satoru.

from the first day of lecture, he was already mesmerized — by the wafting scent of your cologne as you walked past his row, the way your head cocked to the side whenever you thought through a problem set, the distant clicks as you tapped the end of your pencil against your arm nervously.

he simply couldn’t help but steal that initial glance. he also couldn’t help but steal another one the lecture after.

and another. and another.

he knew he was getting ahead of himself, being so selfish with his dangerous stares, but you just had that effect on him. an effect that he's never experienced with anyone else. he bit back his pride when he couldn’t even approach you first, as he normally did with his prior interests.

there was just something so serene, so heavenly about you. he almost wanted to leave you undisturbed, opting to observe you from afar — not wanting to disrupt his delicate masterpiece from behind the red rope at the museum.

but the day you approached him changed everything. ‘how can someone so innocent have such a mouth on her,’ he chuckles to himself, taking his ipad and apple pencil out of his backpack before laying them flat on the table.

you were completely unlike his initial impression of you, much to his amusement. he prefers it this way —actually— he likes a girl who has a bit of a bite. besides, he finally has an excuse to talk to you and do what he knows best: get under your skin. metaphorically (and literally).

he glances at the door as he hears the familiar clanking of your keychain against your water bottle, more excited for the lecture than he's ever been before.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

there is no fucking way.

gojo satoru is now sitting in the seat directly next to your unassigned assigned seat in this 300-person lecture hall. the entire classroom is almost packed too. how early did he have to be to even get that seat? why is he in that seat? your thoughts are cut off as he waves his hand at you, muttering a short "yoohoo~," ushering you to sit next to him.

hell no. you still have no idea what he's playing at. is he stalking you? does he have some sort of ulterior motive? what if his scary billionaire family kills you, a dirty plebeian, for sitting so close to their perfect, trust fund baby?

you immediately switch gears, practically running away to find a new seat, catching a glimpse of his pout in the corner of your eye. you ignore him and situate yourself in the very front row, directly in front of the professor's podium. you let out a deep exhale as you unpack your notebook when you hear a loud shuffle next to you.

this guy has no shame.

gojo, in all his glory, happily claims the empty seat next to you —unloading the entire apple store (or so it feels like) onto the desk. "good choice, doll. more leg room up here," he stretches his long, lanky legs before crossing them — making sure his knee briefly makes contact with yours.

"are you serious right now— bro your entire apple ecosystem is getting onto my side of the desk," you scowl at him once again as you shove his macbook closer to him. "serious about what?" he mocks, that signature smile gleaming down on you.

"whatever this is? are you obsessed with me or something," you mutter the last part under your breath, but he takes note of you rolling your eyes at him. "hmmm," he taps his chin all philosophically, "if anything you're the one obsessed with me."

wow, this guy really is insane. you felt your eyebrow twitch in anger as you jerked your head up, "me obsessed with you? how does that even make any sense—" "you said you noticed me staring for weeks," he muses, still looking straight at you, "but you don't think i noticed you staring back?"

you scoff, "i was simply just returning your gaze; not everything is about you!” “untrue.”

after refusing to make eye contact, you finally meet his eyes. "i'm not gonna play this damn game with you, look—"

you've never seen him this close before. you've never seen anyone this close before, really. in this cramped lecture hall, with its seats compressed like sardines, it felt like he was only mere millimeters away from you. your breath hitched as the air seemed palpable, heavy. he was so close, but it felt like he was untouchable — almost as if an infinite void was cast between you two.

for the first time, he dropped that condescending smirk. he dropped the facade altogether. beyond the icy blue hues, his eyes glistened a shade that he only shows to you, a shade you've never noticed in all those times you two locked eyes. they were powdery blue — the same softness as the edges of the clouds in the sky or the frothy, tidal waves lightly crashing against the beach sand.

it made you wonder if it was physically possible for one person to hold so much power in just their eyes. a power that felt like three whole people, six eyes-worth, were constantly peering into every fiber of your being. except this time, it was intense in a whole different way, completely unlike before. the closest feeling you could think of was a warm oven, fresh after a batch of cookies — an inexplicable warmth in contrast to his icy appearance.

lost in each others' eyes, he parts his lips as if to finally say something—

"i would really appreciate if you two kept your eyes on the board instead of on each other," a voice boomed from the podium in front of you.

you both tense up, quickly spinning your bodies around to face the front as the snickers began to fill the classroom. you completely forgot about how close you were sitting to the professor.

you felt a tinge of heat start on your cheeks, creeping its way up onto the cartilage of your ears. the embarrassment was more than enough to shut you both up for the rest of the period, but you knew.

you knew you wanted to feel this way again.

——————————————————————————

final notes; i wrote this in my actual lecture hall instead of taking notes guys😎😎 (i am severely ill)

[rottingbedpost]

You & Me - Prelude

Characters - Idol/Canon! Yoongi x 8th Member/Idol/Fem! Reader

Story - Friends/Band Mates to Lovers, Forbidden Love, 8th Member Au

Summary - The title of this one is pretty much it. Prelude to ‘You & Me’

Word Count - 2k

Chapter Warnings - Fluff, Angst, Talk of food(Non-ed related), Canonically Mint Yoongi

A/N - This is my first fic in years, so bear with me, it’s going to be a journey. My bad for the poorly made header. Reply for tags!

SONG: Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon

Our First Kiss

Christmas Eve 2015

– – – – – – –  

This isn’t your first time alone on Christmas, but with the boys off with family, it feels a little bit more lonely. 

They are all you have—your chosen family. 

So, since your chosen family is with their real families for the holidays, you are spending them at the dorms, impatiently waiting for the rooms to be cramped again. To be sitting shoulder to shoulder with the rest of your band. They are the best part about being scouted, having this home, people to live with, who you love and who love you. Your best friends.

Jin would have kidnapped you and dragged you to visit with his family for the holidays if you had let him, Taehyung, too.

You knew they all cared. Not wanting to leave you alone this time of year. But frankly, you all need a break from one another. 

This was the first Christmas since your trainee days that you weren’t put to work. You didn’t want to be the one who makes someone else’s holiday sour just because you chose not to have a family to come home to. Your decision. 

It was surprising having these few days off anyway, being in the midst of promotions, and a concert next week. 

Promotions are going alright. The fear of disbandment has been a cloud of smoke in your life. Something you especially don’t like to think about. But it manages to take ownership of your mind either way. Always getting upset when the topic is brought up, as if it isn’t something destined for your future. Being torn apart from the only true family you know.

Not to mention losing him. But you shouldn’t think about your fat crush on your best friend of five years, now isn’t the time. It’s never the time. Write a damn love song about him and get over it allready.

You have to distract yourself. This time of year is hard enough without thinking of losing everyone in your life a second time over.

The laptop in the corner catches your eye. Bootleg a movie.

– – – – –

Mindlessly searching for a movie on your laptop shouldn’t be this hard. Maybe Rudolph? It’s been a while since you watched that one; it shouldn’t be hard to find. 'Tis the season! 

Another screen lights up, distracting you from your distraction. 

Your phone.

Min Yoongi (Coworker)

A name you had placed, partly as a joke, and partly to remind you that the cute boy smiling with his gums in that profile photo is off limits. It could cost you your job and your family.  

Accept Decline

“Yoongi?”

He shouldn’t be calling you? Is something wrong?

“Wow, doll? You can’t say Hi, or wish me a happy holiday? Maybe I shouldn’t have called”

He has got to stop calling you that. It makes things so difficult.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Why are you calling me? I don’t want you to miss time with your family-”

“It’s fine. I’m fine! I just wanted to make sure you are doing okay… “

Fuck. Of course, he is worried about you being alone, and you are just being annoying about it. He sounds so hoarse over the phone. I wish he were here, or I were there.

“So are you? Doing okay?”

Damn it. Took too long.

“Oh, yeah. I am doing. I am doing okay, only a little bored, but I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure? Did you eat? You shouldn’t be stuck bored on the holidays…”

So fucking thoughtfull.

“Yes! I promise I am just fine. And I haven’t ate, but I will.”

You won’t. But you can’t let him worry. Just Lie.

“It really is fine. I was just getting ready to start a movie, actually. And I’m craving chicken, so I’ll go get some. You really shouldn’t worry, go have fun with your family, ok?”

“I know you are lying.”

Stop reading me like that.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are, seriously, eat. I know you don’t want to leave the dorms, but you can at least make ramyeon, ok?”

Why does he know you? I mean, you know why he knows you. He is the first of the guys you met, and you have slept in the same room as him for five years now. 

“OK, fine. But promise you won’t spend any more time worrying about me?”

“OK.”

Something is off with him.

“Promise?”

“Promise…”

“You said you are watching a movie. What one?”

“Yoongi, you just promised to spend time with your family? Shouldn’t you go back to them?”

He is giggling. God just hang up already. You don’t need his smile on your mind. You are lonely enough. 

“Alright, doll.”

Fuck. Not that. Why does he think he can call you that?

“Enjoy your movie.”

“Goodnight, Yoong.”

“Night”

He sounds almost upset to go. Why did he call you?

END CALL

“Fuck”

Now this call is going to be all you think about tonight. What was up with him? It had to be more than just worrying for you.

Distraction.

“OK, Rudolph. Where were we?”

– – – – – – – 

As the Rudolph credits close, you let the Elf credits open. I guess this is the rest of your night. Laughing might make you feel better.

Keys.

Someone is unlocking the door. 

What. The. Fuck.

This came out of nowhere.

“Hello??”

No response.

Is it staff? Who is coming into your dorms? Fuck you aren’t dressed for this. It’s a damn holiday who is here? Especially just barging in. No courtesy knock at all. What the fuck is going on.

Footsteps. Chicken, whoever it is, brought chicken.

And there he is. The man who makes your world stop turning when he enters the room. You should be used to it by now.

Why is he here? Hair disheveled. Black puffer coat still on. That hair colour suits him so well. Is that beer?

“Yoongi?”

“Hey doll…” His teeth are tugging at his bottom lip. Why is he looking at you like that? Like he is about to be rejected. Or already has been.

He called you that damn name again.

“Yoongi… What are you doing here?”

– – –

The smells of fried chicken and beer complement the decorations well. They complement your mint-haired friend well, too. “You didn’t tell me why you came?”

He huffs. “I didn’t want you to be bored.” Crossed arms leaning on the counter. 

“Well, I can manage.” 

You had completely forgotten you told him you were craving chicken. You remember it now. These days, it doesn’t escape your mind how thoughtful he is when you think back on this night.

You take a bite.

“Why aren’t you back home?”

He sighs. “Are you going to make me talk about it?”

“Guess not.”

“Did you finish?”

You choke on your sip of beer. “What??”

“You said you were going to watch a movie?”

Holy shit. You need to get laid. How on earth is that the first thing you thought of? The smirk on his face shows he knows exactly where your mind wandered off to. Ignore it. You need to ignore it.

“Oh. I watched Rudolph. I was getting ready to start Elf when you got here.” You manage to get out.

He takes a bite out of a chicken leg. You copy him, hiding the rose on your cheeks.

“Let’s watch it then?”

“Are you sure? We can do something else if you want. Or you could go home?”

“I live here, not with my parents.” Something happened. I wonder if they are fighting again.

“Alright. Elf it is!” It’s better not to talk about it.

You go to your laptop. Having turned it off when he first showed up. Who knows how long it’s been since then? You glance at the clock.

11:45 PM

You watch as he carries the drinks into the room. Only four cans left. 

PLAY

He sits too close. The laptop is small but not that small.

“It’s been a while since I watched this.”

“Me too.”

He puts a cold drink in your hand, your third, then gets one for himself.

“Thanks for this… by the way.”

“It’s nothing. Watch the movie.”

He is always brushing you off so fast.

It’s not nothing. Why is he here? Why does he have to be so perfect? Why can he read everything about you, and you can’t understand a single thing he does? Why can he sit here, thighs touching like he doesn’t feel the air around the two of you? Maybe that’s it. He sits this close because you are friends. That's it.

Stop inhaling like you are trying to breathe him in.

volume: ++++

Did he do that to make the sound drown out your thoughts or his?

The screen is reflecting off his glasses. Those god damn glasses. Stop staring. His looks are criminal. Thank god for his sweater and look away.

– – – 

Two half-empty cans left.

He is looking at you again. Don’t look back. Pretend you are watching the movie, not his reflection on the screen. Why is he looking at you like that? It’s like his eyes are digging into the side of your face. 

Just bite your tongue. Can he stop? He shouldn’t bite his lip at you like that. 

God, his eyes. Wait, his eyes. You turn your head to face him, breaking your eye contact in the reflection. He turns back to face you, tongue sliding across his lips. He looks even better outside of his reflection. His eyes are sparkling, but you can’t tell a word of what they are trying to tell you. 

“I thought you wanted to watch the movie?” He waits to reply. Humming thoughtfully.

“I got distracted.”

You giggle. “By what? Is there something on my face?”

“Yes”

What??? That was way too fast. Was he really staring at you because there was something on your face? You furrow your brows and bring your sleeve up to your mouth before a hand tugs at your wrist gently.

“You are so gullible.”

That smirk is so hot.

You scoff “Asshole!”

He flashes a sweet smile, his hand not letting go of your wrist. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” You giggle.

And now you're trapped. Who is going to look back at the screen first? Stuck smiling at each other, looking into each other's eyes. 

He breaks eye contact first, but not in the way that would have benefited your sanity. Your lips. He is sitting there. No space between the two of you. Staring at your lips. 

“You know. You are really beautiful, right?”

Why is he saying that? He usually doesn’t get drunk that easily.

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.”

Look back at the laptop. PLEASE look back at the laptop.

No, the laptop, not your eyes.

‘I really can’t stay

Baby, it’s cold outside.’

His eyes seem different. Does he really think you are beautiful? You have to, being an idol anyway? Right?

Something is pulling you closer. Did he sneak magnets into the chicken? Back up. You have to back up.

You don’t back up.

And when soft, slightly cracked lips are pressed onto yours, you let it happen. You move in closer. This is perfect. NO, this is wrong, you shouldn’t be doing this.

It has been years since your last kiss, your last real kiss.

A thumb presses gently into your chin. 

What the fuck is happening? I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How the fuck did you get here? His mouth tastes like beer. When did his tongue slip between your lips?

‘The neighbors might think

Baby, it’s bad out there.’

So many fucking questions are running through your mind. 

His hair is so soft. 

‘Say, what’s in this drink?

No cabs to be had out there.’

This can’t just be a kiss. It feels like more. More is happening, and you have no idea what. Oblivious to the world around you.

After a hum escapes your lips, you feel your stomach drop.

Cold. 

His thumb is gone. His lips are gone. The hand on your wrist is gone.

No. No. No. Come back!

You release the grip on his hair.

Why isn’t he looking at you?

“Fuck…”

-- -- --

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed!! If you didn't already guess, this is inspired by a story J-Hope told (I don't remember were). Obviously, I made up my own timeline & events but that is where I got the idea! Hopefully you will like it...

© rottingbedpost  do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[oacest]

Liam interview in Time Out, July 2000

Below the cut is the Liam-half of an incredibly candid interview the brothers gave in July 2000, in the midst of their mid-tour split. This was originally transcribed by a fellow named Harry Hotspur, one of the hard-working denizens of the Oasis usenet forum (such were the lengths fans went to before they could screenshot and share images easily).

I am posting the text here, as I have not found the same article readily available elsewhere online, and it's an incredible read. The interviewer essentially acts as a therapist, gently countering the more immediate, caustic replies to get at the emotional heart of matters.

Noel's half here.

The Brothers Grim

What with Noel walking off their tour, Liam's marriage crumbling and the new album under-performing, things haven't been going so well for Oasis recently.

In these exclusive, excoriating interviews, the Gallagher brothers talk more frankly than ever before, and admit that if they're not able to sort out their current batch of problems, the end may well be nigh...

LIAM

June 29 Liam Gallagher (27) has been a very busy Manc lately. First, his brother walked out on Oasis's current world tour, after another Bust Up(TM). Then it became clear that Liam's Stormy Marriage(TM) to Patsy 'who's next?' Kensit was reaching its sad but inevitable end. To make matters worse, Liam was followed to this afternoon's north London photo shoot by paparazzi, and he's got hay fever. Unsurprisingly, although likeable, he's tired, serious and a little stressed. After Liam has posed for photos (his Elvis 'Taking Care Of Business' patch prominent), we sit for a chat.

How's the tour going?

Going good, y'know. Considering Noel's not there.

Does it feel different?

Totally. It's just more punky. Not as professional. Just up and running, banging it out, instead of being a bit... dunno. I think we got a bit too slick.

Would you mind Noel not being there if you were a fan?

[Witheringly] Yeah. He writes the songs, you wanna see him there, don't you? We've just gotta sort it out. He's gotta realise that... we've argued before, and we'll argue again. I just wanna be in a band. I don't wanna hear anything about solo albums.

You were getting on pretty well, weren't you?

Yeah, we had been. It's just solo stuff keeps popping up, and I don't like it. It's no good for the band and it's no good for me.

Have you been in touch?

I rang him and he told me to fuck off, so I left it at that. I'll meet him in Dublin the day before the gig and we'll have to have it out there. But we're not splitting up. Even though everyone's saying we should. This is what we do. We've got loads of new songs. There's an album ready to go.

Do you understand why Noel left?

Yeah, 'cause we were arguing. Y'know, he said things to me, I said things to him. Like you do. And that was it. I just said, 'I don't wanna hear about solo albums, you're not putting me on a fucking shelf for a year.'

Why do you think he wants to do solo stuff?

I haven't got a clue. People are saying it's 'cause he's got these songs that aren't Oasis. But you make them Oasis, don't ya?

Do you feel there are more eyes on you on stage now?

Nah, 'cause it's a band. Obviously people are into the two brothers thing, but it's not Noel's band, it's not my band. It'd be good if we all worked together instead of Noel just writing things. I think it's time for *us* now, if we're gonna fuckin', y'know, survive.

It must be hard for him, though, having never written with any of you before. Maybe he's threatened by the idea.

I'm sure he is, but there shouldn't be no threat, it's only for the good of the band. He carries the weight of Oasis on his fuckin' shoulders too much. And you can tell he does, in his writing and in everything. It's like 'share it out'. I'm willing to fuckin' take a chance.

So it's not gonna be a problem getting back with him now?

[Derisively] Nah. We've had arguments before. We're all big boys, we know what we've gotta do. And we were never fucking that close anyway.

How was it through Japan and America?

Japan and America was great. It was just, we were in Barcelona and Alan had pulled a gig 'cause of his hand and we were sat about in the dressing room drinking. It was just a pissed-up fucking argument. And then we had a fight. And he won, I'll give him that. And he got off and I stayed the night in Barcelona and he went to Paris and I met him again - I was still pissed up - in the hotel in Paris and we had another little ding-dong and that's it.

Do you think...

[Interrupts] But I'm sure he thought we'd come home after him. But I thought: Well, fuck that, there's no point. I'm not gonna be able to get in my house, with the press. And once I'm in, I'm not gonna be able to get out. And I'm not living like that any more. Fuck it. So I thought: We'll have a crack. It was the first time we'd ever worked together as a fuckin' band. And it felt nice. And it's a shame he wasn't there.

Who should be apologising?

Well, I've apologised, I'm man enough to apologise and I'm man enough to say I was wrong.

So you were out of order?

[Passionately] I was out of order and he was out of order. We were both totally out of order. We've just gotta fuckin'... [Quietly] I dunno. Y'know, we're always gonna argue.

Are you enjoying life?

[Hesitates] Yeah, it's good, I can't complain. No one's dead, are they? I've got a beautiful baby and I'm buzzing off him. Shit's not right at home with me missus, but that'll get sorted. Y'know, there's no point dwelling on it.

How's London life?

I'm moving, man. Gonna go to the country for a bit.

You're selling the house, aren't you?

Yeah. D'ya wanna buy it?

I wish I could afford it. £1.5 million...

More than that, mate. Two point fucking eight. [It's later reported that the house has been sold for £2.5m.]

What about the whole drink and drugs thing?

No drugs, man. I've had enough. For the time being. I've not given up, but [yawns] I just can't be bothered. Got too much shit going on in my life to be snorting gear. I've got a kid to look after, I've gotta be strong. But I like a pint.

What do you drink?

Anything.

You're not giving that up then?

You can't give up fuckin' booze, man. A couple of pints is okay. And I have a lot of pints, I can drink for England, but you can only drink so much before you're asleep.

You don't think you've ever had a problem with drinking?

I don't think so. No. I just like to drink. I could give it up like that, but who am I giving it up for? For some other cunt? If you don't wanna drink, then don't drink. If you wanna do summat, do it.

Yeah, but if you're getting reliant...

No. I drink 'cause I want to. Not because I need to. It's like, if some shit goes on I don't go 'Oh fuck, I need a drink'. There's no booze in my house. If I was a big heavy fucking drinker, which all these idiots think I am, there'd be beer in my house. It's full of water, my house, and the only time I have a drink is when I go to the pub.

Are people saying you shouldn't?

I dunno. Our kid reckons I shouldn't drink. Y'know, I reckon... There's a lot of things he shouldn't do.

Isn't he looking out for you? I mean, do you love each other?

I adore him. And if anyone bad-mouthed him I'd rip their fuckin' head off. And he'd do the same for me. It's a love - hate relationship. I wanna be him. He wants to be me. Y'know, he wants to be a singer and I want to be a songwriter.

What about your kid? How's he?

He's rocking. He's starting to crawl. He growls. He just goes 'grrrr'. He don't go 'ga ga goo goo'.

You like the current album?

I think it's great.

And it's sold 500,000 copies here.

That's a lot of records. But I don't give a fuck. You can't go 'Right, we're gonna write a record and it's gonna sell *that* amount.' It goes where it goes.

The first Stone Roses album sold less than 500,000.

And that's great.

Yeah, and Johnny Hates Jazz sold more. And who remembers Johnny Hates Jazz?

You. You've just mentioned them. You had them on before you came out! And I tell you fuckin' what, fair play to him 'cause I hate jazz an' all.

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Jeongin🖤

Pairing: Jeongin x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 1026

Summary: Next on your list is Jeongin, remembering a day where the younger came home devastated after a mistake on stage.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst

A/N: Hii, I'm so sorry, life kept me busy and I had no chance finishing this little post. I hope to be back on track with the four remaining pairings and an eventual bonus chapter of how the boys react if you're interested in that🤭🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you scroll through your photo library, searching for the right image of Jeongin. When you find it, a wave of tenderness washes over you. The picture is from a few nights ago—one of those nights that left your heart aching for him and full of pride all at once. He’s sitting on the floor of the dressing room, his hair tousled and slightly damp with sweat, his makeup smudged around his eyes, staring down at the floor with his lips pressed tightly together. You’re beside him, one arm around his shoulders, your other hand resting gently on top of his. In the photo, his expression is one of frustration and self-doubt, brows furrowed, eyes downcast. But even in the midst of his struggle, there’s something undeniably beautiful about him—something strong and resilient.

You remember that night vividly. Jeongin had messed up a part of the choreography on stage. It was a minor mistake, something no one else probably noticed, but to him, it was huge. You’d seen it the moment he came off stage—the way his shoulders slumped, his gaze averted as if he didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. He’d forced a smile for the fans, held himself together until the lights went down, and then quietly slipped away to the dressing room, shoulders tense with self-reproach.

You’d followed him, heart aching, knowing how hard he can be on himself. He’d been sitting on the floor, looking so small and lost, shoulders trembling slightly as he tried to hold back his frustration. When you sat down beside him, he didn’t say a word—didn’t even look up. But you knew what he was feeling—the disappointment, the anger directed inward, the overwhelming need to be perfect.

“Hey, Innie love,” you’d whispered softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He’d flinched slightly, then let out a long, shuddering breath, still not looking at you.

“I messed up,” he murmured, voice strained, like the words were clawing at his throat. “Everyone else was perfect, and I… I ruined it.”

Your heart had tightened at the raw pain in his voice. “No, you didn’t,” you’d said gently. “Jeongin, it was just one tiny mistake. No one even noticed.”

But he’d just shaken his head, fists clenched on his knees. “I noticed. It’s my job to get it right, and I couldn’t. I’m supposed to be better than this.”

You’d stayed quiet, letting him speak, letting him vent. Then, without another word, you’d wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. He’d resisted at first, his whole body stiff and tense, but then the dam broke. He’d sagged against you, his face buried in your shoulder, his hands clutching desperately at your shirt as if holding on for dear life. His breathing was harsh and uneven, each exhale filled with a mix of anger and helplessness. All you could do was hold him, murmuring soft, comforting words, rubbing his back gently until the storm inside him started to calm.

“It’s okay, Innie. It’s okay to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t change how amazing you are. Not even a little.”

For a long time, you stayed like that, just holding him, feeling his body gradually relax against yours. He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the shift—the way the tension slowly drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, weary kind of acceptance.

Eventually, he’d pulled back, his eyes red but his expression softer, more resigned. “Thank you,” he’d whispered, voice still rough around the edges but steadier now. “I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize,” you’d cut in gently, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be perfect, Jeongin. You just have to be you. That’s more than enough.”

You attach the picture to a new message, feeling the emotions from that night all over again. Fingers trembling slightly, you begin typing, knowing exactly what you want to say to the boy who tries so hard to be perfect, when all you want is for him to see just how perfectly imperfect he already is.

Message to Jeongin:

Hey Innie love,

I know this picture isn’t from your best moment, but I wanted to send it to you anyway because I think it’s a reminder of something important. That night, you were so frustrated with yourself, and I know how much that tiny mistake hurt you. But to me, this photo doesn’t show someone who messed up. It shows someone who’s strong enough to keep going, even when things don’t go perfectly. It shows someone who cares deeply about what he does, who wants to give his best every single time.

But you know what, Innie? It’s okay to stumble sometimes. It’s okay to have moments when things don’t go the way you planned. That’s what makes you human, and that’s what makes me love you even more. Because you always get back up, always push forward, always try to be better. But please remember—being perfect isn’t what makes you special. It’s your heart, your determination, your courage to show your vulnerable side.

I’m so proud of you, not just for your talent, but for your resilience. So, even on the days when you feel like you’ve let yourself down, I want you to know that I’ll always see the amazing person you are. No mistakes could ever change that.

Happy anniversary, Innie love. Here’s to more moments, both perfect and imperfect, and to loving every single one of them because they’re all a part of you.

Love you so much,

Your biggest fan and supporter.

You send the message, your heart aching with tenderness. You can already picture his reaction—how he’ll probably read it in silence, his eyes growing soft and misty. He might not say much in reply, might just send a quiet, heartfelt “thank you.” But you know it’ll mean everything to him, because Jeongin isn’t someone who needs grand gestures. He just needs to know that he’s enough, just as he is.

And that’s what you’ll keep reminding him, every single chance you get. Because he’s your Innie love—the one who shines brightest, even when he thinks his light is fading.

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin

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[lady-lani-1707]

On womankind as people.

The woman exists as a being in a female body.

Her life at first seems more developed than her male counterparts. She often talks earlier with loud and voraciously chatty personalities. She roughouses and snatches and bites and kicks just as much as any other child. If it wasn't for her frilly attire and gendered outfits, it would be virtually impossible to distinguish most infant boys and girls. They are all adorably chubby with the exact same pitch to their cries, and they all crave the exact same things. If it wasn't for the little bow on her almost pathetically adorable exuse for a ponytail or her pink onesie reading a mantra like "mommy's little girl" you can not distinguish most infants sex on anything outside of their weight and perhaps sometimes facial features in unique cases.

Perhaps that's that's the best time to be a female human.

It starts early, little by little girls recieve wagging fingers of dismissal when they ask to do anything physical. That's odd. She thinks I used to do that. I used to be allowed to get dirty and be unkempt, but now they put me in more dresses and make me smile for photos.

I am a girl.

Then around adolescence, she learns what a period is - it's unreal, unthinkable. Yet everyone tells her it's natural and even healthy. The boys are separated, outside playing football in the midst of this sickening female only assembly.

Afterwards, instead of eating during lunch the girls all find themselves natural conviening at the restroom. Their faces all shaky with a mix of disbelief and queasiness. Some trying to jokingly yet no so jokingly go to the stalls and check themselves for any sign of... blood.

She wets her face almost wanting to feel cold all over, and looks at her own deadpan face whilst the other girls try and trivialise or rationalise it in whispered conversations. She feels nothing, she feels everything, and again that voice rings inside her head.

I am a girl.

But a new addition is firmly set in stone now and so the phrase extends.

I am a girl, and so I am *different*.

This line replays when she learns more about her own biology, it replays again when she realises that one day a boy will put his- inside her own body and by whatever age that is she is supposed to like that, and want that.

The boys seem both overjoyed and giggly. As if they'd heard the most amusing thing ever. There's a sense of... pride to it. She couldn't quote explain it, but they seemed.. excited at the thought. Some boys seemed disgusted, but a fair amount seemed like they had heard this before.. or seen this before. Suddenly, some of their confusing lingo and inside jokes made sense.

The girl looks around at her friends, and their is a range of emotions. Some girls visibly cringe and grimace, others try and laugh it off aswell, some seem overly giggly, but their eyes still crinkled with a hint of fear.

She knew what she felt. She felt sick. Betrayed by her own body. She felt like the adult her was already betraying her. She told herself she wouldn't engage in it. Don't think about it.

I am a girl and my body is against me.

Came this new variation.

Then, later on in her life, the now young teenage girl, somehow, has been relatively safe and ignored all her young life.

She thinks herself lucky, she thinks her tomboyish attire and aversion to boys and focus on her studies protects her.

Though she learnt what sexual harassment looks like during assemblies.

She thinks her headscarf is like a barrier against lustful men.

Though she knows deep down that even fully covered women in Islamic countries are not safe.

She thinks her babyish face makes her seen as less sexual, undesirable and feels an odd sense of pride at not being catcalled ever in her life.

Though she knows deep down men rape even infants.

This little girl, now a young teen, has learned more about the world and considered herself a feminist despite the irony of being raised muslim.

She can only keep her mouth shut when misogynistic verses are pulled and read in sociology class.

She can only feel unease deep deep down when her atheist friends seem to be making points.

She cuts it off shortly, she tries to convince them that surely everything is created, even us.

Or else why would women suffer.. for no point-

Then she is brought back to the real world.

The real world that she'd tried to daydream away.

The real world that is for men.

She sits on the bus. The back row is completely empty. A man, seemingly obviously muslim, just like her, chooses to sit right beside her. At first, she feels a false sense of safety but then feels confusing unease.

She turns to the window trying to ignore his face, feeling nothing but pure anxiety when she feels movement.

Oh. She sighed, trying to calm herself down, he's just trying reach for his keys- Oh.

Oh no. Even... me?

She swallows hard. And all she fears is pure panic and it feels like the world freezes up.

White hot fear, she can't even look at the man discreetly groping her. It felt like with every second, he was tainting her in some way as he grabbed fistfuls of her flesh.

She dreamed with her eyes open lost in the imagination of all the things she said she would do, her mind itches to scream, to stand up and point and make a big dramatic show. She is almost lost in the dream of what she would do, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

She musters all the courage she has and shoots him a shaky glare, a "I know what you're doing" look.

Pathetic but enough resistance for filth like him to feel threatened. They hate any resistance or acknowledgement. They want to just touch girls and go about their day without ever having to look into their victims eyes. Did he feel guilty? Did he remember god? She didn't know. He just seemed sobered up, with a casual air like the disappointment of when a game is over.

Like she'd been some sort of killjoy for not sitting and taking it.

His blasé almost cheeckily smug expression, like it was nothing more than a fun little game, the embarrassed crinkle in his eyes seemed more at the fact that he got caught more than his own actions.

She gets off and goes home.

When she tells her parents, it almost feels comical. Unreal.

She expected sympathy, not a :

"You need to be more observant, he asked if you were getting off so he might know you"

"Why didn't you say something?"

She angrily told them not to blame her for what he did.

She puts headphones to ears and tries pacing around her room, all the while feeling his touch like the feeling of imagining yourself swimming after you already swam the same day. The hands still there like the rocking motion of waves.

His hands felt like they were still there, touching her, and all she could feel is both disgust and a sick sense of irony at herself not being able to do something. It felt comical that something so horrible happened so casually. That the world still carried on. Like... it really didn't matter.

She was now a statistic too.

She'd never been catcalled. She'd always felt relatively invisible. Of course. Of course she wasn't exempt. It wasn't because the other girls were prettier, or not religious or more extraverted.

I am a girl

And my body is not my own.

I thought.

I am a girl, and just like any other girl...

I'm not safe.

I think that moment is where childhood dies.I think it's a very sobering feeling that is felt by women world wide. This is not just my story, but the story of millions of girls and women, across all backgrounds. We're united by facing the unwanted touch of our degenerate counterparts.

This kind of moment is something no child should face, no adult should face.

It happens every day in every place to every kind of woman. A defining feature of men is how little respect and lack of humanity they see in us and what little care they have is shown with their disgusting touches. It's not just a touch. It's more than that. It's a declaration of power and authority. It's an abuse of boundaries and most horrifically...

It's nothing new.

Women need to protect little girls and eachother, if you can't feel brave enough to call it out yourself, then do it with a friend. If you can't speak, glare like I did.

Make a scene and most importantly, never ever blame the victim.

I think shame has been used to silence us for far too long.

- Lani, your Lady

[superluver]

Dingy Camera G.S.

6.2k words | cw: Angst, Gore, Character death, MAJOR JJK MANGA SPOILERS, S2 Spoilers, (No)happy ending/ slight comfort, Follows the Events of Gojo's Past arc+un-canon events at ending for the plot, MAJOR mental health warning, FEM READER

THIS STORY DOES NOT CONTAIN PEDOPHILIA

Gojo is very pushy

Description: Gojo was in love with you—his Highschool teacher and the strongest sorcerer of your time— who had known him since he was young. You don't see him in that light, but he is stubborn, even as a highschool student. You are watching your students grow up, becoming stronger with each passing second. And after the failed Star-Plasma Vessel trip, you set out on a man-hunt for your father, who is harboring a new woman's body as his own...

☆*:.｡. Starting here .｡.:*☆

It's dark in the apartment, well.. condo— he is a rich man after all— yet, he can see it all.

He remembers his way around the place, has for many years. He doesn’t even need his six eyes to know where he stands.

He just knows.

When he bought the condo, he purchased the furniture along with it, to keep that memory alive. It was all he had left. Sometimes he wonders if she were alive, how strange it would be, if the Zenin, Gojo, and Kamo clan’s prized possessions all sat at a dinner table, chatting about their days in peace.

He finds himself standing at the table, near the door, with a photograph. A much older woman, patting his and Suguru’s head aggressively, her chin laying on Shoko’s. Her grin was broad, a cigarette peeking out from the corner of her mouth. He and Suguru had an annoyed expression, hence the blurry photo. It was them trying to pull her off them as she was pressing their heads down so she would appear taller.

She was tall already, but two boys that were in the midst of their puberty, skyrocketing like a bean sprout, was a bit degrading to her very large ego. Her upper arm, hardly visible to the camera’s view, has a cloth— the exact same Satoru uses to cover her arm— wrapped around it with a cute little bunny knot that pokes from the side.

He closes his eyes, pulling the cloth from his eyes, breathing out.

“Hey, Sensei! Spar with me!” Satoru shouts, he’s a first year, not knowing anyone but you, the woman who watched him grow up. “Hah?” You chuckle, shaking your head with a smoking cigarette peeking from the corner.

You're sitting at your desk in your chair, it has wheels, which you occasionally spin in circles when no one is watching. Though, since your class is in session, you lay your feet on the wooden desk, which is dented from the amount of time you’ve slammed your heels on it. With your free hand— the other occupied with a newspaper— you shoo him off, continuing, “No way, you’re too weak. And,” you fwip your newspaper, “I’m busy, as you can see.”

He gapes, extremely offended. “I’m the strongest there is!” He shouts, his thumb pointing at his chest, which he puffs out.

“Alright, strongest.” You tease, watching his face grow red as you bare what you like to call, a shit eating grin.

“Let’s see, how strong are you?”

Your head turns to your other first year students, Suguru and Shoko.

Suguru sits with his head in hit palm, clearly dazed and exhausted, and Shoko has her head up in the air, leaning back in her seat with a straw in her mouth. Her arms dangling at her side.

The nearing summer heat is killing all of you, but it's impacting your classes too. The windows are open to let the breeze in, but if you close it, the classroom will turn into an oven. You have a fan running in the background, but only at you.

You know what they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

“If— if I win, we get the fan.”

Suguru and Shoko’s ears perk up, their attention on their classmate.

You shrug, placing the newspaper down. “Alright,” your fingers take the cigarette from your lips with one last puff, blowing the air away with the side of your mouth.

“Here's the deal—” you put it out on the already ashened ashtray. “If you guys win, I’ll buy all three of you fans” you tell them, holding three fingers up, then pointing to your own. “And you can even have mine.”

Then, you smile, it's a scary one that sends shivers down Satoru’s back. “But if I win, not only will the three of you work your asses off outside, you’ll be fully clothed in your uniforms, no unbuttoning, no fans, no water—”

“But Sensei, we’ll die without water!” Shoko whines, still chewing on the straw.

“No you won’t, I'll make sure you three won't. So might as well hydrate before. From dawn till dusk, we’ll train like you’ve never trained before, for the entire week, starting as soon as he loses."

That last sentence froze the room, and you continued with your closed eyes smile, waving Satoru off. “I’ll let the three of you discuss it amongst yourselves.”

He gulps, nodding before trudging back with a slouch to his friends. You observe them whisper, then watch as Satoru gets him in the head before all three of them nod.

He seems more confident, striding back. His hands slam on your desk, his glasses gleam, and that grin you taught him, “I’ll do it!”

You mirror that grin standing up, towering over the growing student, “Atta boy,”

He finds himself in the outdoor gym, right beside the track.

You, even as a teacher, never wore the Jujutsu Uniform, maybe the bottoms at times, but your top was always a tank top. In the bleachers, most of the staff. Your Colleague Mei Mei, old student Utahime, Yaga, everyone was there, to witness the worst defeat that the first years could ever experience.

“Satoru?” You call out sweetly, a newly lit cigarette sitting in the corner of your mouth. You turn, smiling to the camera that Mei Mei points at the two of you, quickly holding up a peace sign.

“Yes?”

“You have anymore conditions you wanna add before I beat you?”

He looks around, almost contemplating whether he should tell you before pointing at himself.

“Go on a date with me?”

“START!”

You laugh, dropping the cigarette and stomping on it.

“In your dreams.”

Satoru is quick, activating his infinity like it’s nothing, then going in for a quick blow. “Cursed Technique Lapse—”

You yawn.

His hand is angled to you, “Blue.”

The ground beneath you is pulled, most things around are pulling into him. All but you, standing still on the ground before being thrown back at you.

It's loud, the rubble falling onto you causing gasps from the Bleachers from students. It's a cloud of smoke, and when it clears, you’re no where to be found.

Hell, even Gojo grows worried. Blood pools from underneath the rubble, and he wants to step forward, make sure you're alright, but he remembers your words.

'Satoru, if anything happens, don’t come near me. If you think the battle is over, it’s just beginning.'

He sighs, awaiting something, anything, but still, nothing. He finds himself putting down his infinity, and Suguru slaps his hand into his face, sighing. He never listens to anything anyone has to say to him.

He finally takes a step, but this is when you finally make your appearance.

“Hey, Satoru.” You groan, pushing off a large slab that sits atop of you.

“You really— wow that was heavy —you need to start listening to the things we adults tell you.” You sigh, bringing a hand in front of yourself, clenching your fist with only your pointer finger out, pointing it at him.

“Cursed Technique,” Your blood behind to fly in front of you, turning into objects similar to needles.

You smile at him, not saying anything else, and he tries again, only to find you were tricking him.

The needles fly, hitting his pressure points.

His eyes fly open, before he falls, paralyzed.

Your binding vow allows you to access a higher amount of your cursed energy for every attack given. Blood Manipulation, a technique handed to you from your Clan, Kamo, allows you to manipulate your own blood at will. You decided to create a binding bow with yourself, allowing you to create a higher input of Cursed energy, to 120% into your attacks. Every attack given to you, that causes you to lose blood, would cause an even greater attack to be inflicted on the person because of this. It's confusing to explain, but you made sure to demonstrate it to your first years.

Satoru just doesn't listen.

Mei Mei is still taking photos of the ordeal with your camera, sure to share them with Yuki, your former classmate.

Satoru stares up at you, who is looking down at him with a smile, your hair falling with gravity, the sun behind your head, illuminating your strands.

“I am the strongest for a reason.” You grin at him, kneeling down and placing a palm on his chest, taking back your blood, which sits in a ball in your hand.

You turn to the bleachers, whistling to your other students who are in the midst of running away.

“Cmere.”

They sigh, walking off.

“I’ve got an errand to run, so you’re going to stay with Yaga—”

“WHAT!” Yaga shouts in the distance, but you ignore him completely, continuing, “and his students. Kapeesh?” You point at them.

They all nod, and you help Satoru up, patting his shoulder.

“Yaga, make sure their uniforms are completely buttoned up, no water, nothing. Just make 'em run. I don't want to see a jog, no walk, just run.”

He nods slowly, watching you send him a thumbs up before patting Shoko’s head.

You scurry off, and are gone for quite some time. So long in fact, that it's already dusk. The trio is sweaty, out of breath panting, and overall exhausted. They walk back to the classroom, the hallways are hot and expect the room to be an oven, yet when they enter, it’s chilly.

On their desks, each their own fan, and you, with your arms crossed, asleep.

No matter how annoying their teacher was, she was always the best.

Was.

By the time they became second years, you were always in and out, or just on the phone. Yaga was now their teacher, but you are still their favorite. Days when you were there, they would sit in your classroom after ditching Yaga’s, sitting with Kento and Yu.

“You three better run off back to your class.” You tell them, smoking with your reading glasses sitting at the bridge of your nose. You has a piece of chalk in your hand as you wrote on the chalkboard, equations that now seem like a piece of cake to them.

They grew too fast over the summer, the boys towering over you. Shoko was still a short girl, who was now smoking. You wonder where she picked that up from.

“Nah! We’ll stay here.” Satoru told her, sitting in your seat and swirling around.

Defeated, you sigh, “Suit yourself.”

He stares at you as you write; really taking in your state. Eyebags that were darker than usual, chapped lips, more empty cigarettes boxes, and don't forget to mention the frequent phone calls.

And, as ironic as it sounds, your phone rings. From the title, he can see a name, read as Yuki.

You click your tongue, placing the hall down and running your hand through your hair. As you pass by, you place a hand on his head, ruffling it while flipping open your phone.

“Yea, Yuki?” Then, you walk out.

Your voice is muffled, slowly fading out the more you walk down the hallway. The last thing he could make out was the word ‘Dad’.

The five students sit in awkward silence before Satoru finally breaks the ice.

“What’s up with her?”

The question was for everyone in general, but mainly towards the first years, who got to see her more than he did, which did get him jealous.

“A mission! Supposedly she’s hunting someone down.” Yu speaks up, and Satoru quickly asks.

“Who?”

“A man named K—”

“We don’t know.” Kento speaks up, and it's obvious he’s lying considering the fact that Yu was about to say the man's name.

He didn't press any longer, only narrowing his eyes. Then, humming, leaning back in her seat. It smelt just like her.

He closed his eyes, the plan running through his mind. He nods, thinking how genius he is.

Later, he finds himself in your apartment, sitting at your dining table.

You would jump if you didn’t feel his cursed energy waving from the parking lot.

“Well, here we have a rogue student.” You joke, slipping your shoes off at the door.

“Your shoes off?”

He looks down at his feet, then back up, nodding. “I remember some things.”

You grin, “I know, I didn't make you completely useless.”

It's silent, his eyes wander to the stove. The time was 3:42am, he had been waiting for her for a long time.

“What were you doing?” He asks, staring as she begins boiling water. “Hm? Mission. Tea?” You ask, trying to lighten his mood and overall pressing.

He shakes his head, and you stare at him. His clothes are changed, hair damp, almost completely dry. “Who are you hunting—”

The handle of your tea cup breaks off, the base falling to the ground. It shatters, you stare down at it blankly.

“Satoru.” You say his name coldly, the kettle begins to whistle loud.

“My affairs have nothing to do with you.”

The distance between the two of you is great, like a ripple in time, about immeasurable.

“B-but! I can help you—!”

“Satoru!” You shout, glaring at him, your eyes glowing, face darkens. You calm when you see his expression, almost hurt, and scared. His eyebrows contorted, his lips parted. “Satoru.” You whisper now, walking to him with your arm open. You embrace him, his head to your stomach. Fingers play in his white hair.

“I don’t want you getting hurt. The last thing I want of you is for you to get hurt. This is my own burden,” you take his face in your hands, smiling, “You understand? Taking the future away from children is unforgivable.”

He sighs heavily, wondering when you would stop seeing him as a child, and in a new light as a man.

“I’m not a kid.” He grumbles, his arms wrap around your torso willingly.

“Then a baby,” you joke with a coo, shaking him left and right softly.

“Mei is taking Iori on a mission, I’ll be accompanying them. So, we’ll be gone for no longer than a day.” You inform, stroking his head.

He nods, his eyes growing heavy.

“If you're tired, go to bed.”

“No.”

You shake your head, a light chuckle escaping past your lips. So stubborn. “Suit yourself.”

You go back around to the kitchen, turning off the kettle. “I’ll go shower, your tea is ready.” You tell him, walking over and holding his cup by the rim, placing it on the coaster in front of him. His eyes stare at the cup, almost cautiously. He nods, taking the cup from the table.

By the time you're done, you find the boy asleep upright on the chair, his head down and eyes closed, small snores escaping his lips.

You find yourself scurrying to your table by the door, rummaging through the drawer to pull out an old camera, snapping pictures of him. You laugh, placing the camera on the table he’s at, kneeling in front of him to stare.

You don't remember him growing up this fast, it kind of hurts.

Your hand goes up to his face, squeezing his nose to stop him from breathing. His eyes open wide, and you laugh at his panicked face.

“To bed with you.” You whisper, and he tiredly nods, taking your hand as you lead him to the guest bedroom, but he stops when you try to pull him into the room.

“Satoru,”

He looks down with a pout, his shaggy hair covering his eyes.

“I want to sleep with you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, shaking your head with a sigh before leading him to your room. Allowing him to open your sheets and sprawl into your bed. You tuck him back in, patting his stomach as you lay down.

“Just like when you were a child. Always asking your parents to sleep over, and of course I let them. You were so cute!” You exclaim, positioning yourself to your side. He stares up into the ceiling, and you watch him. Your head on your hand.

“Stop staring into Narnia, sleep—”

“You won’t die, will you?”

His voice is soft, and he won't look at you. He doesn’t want to see how you're staring at him. Your eyes wide, lips puffed, clearly taken aback.

“Ah, what makes you say that?” You whisper, your tone dropping.

“You don’t sleep, your never home—”

“You’ve been in my house?”

He pouts, “Technically, it’s not a house.”

You laugh at his response. “Satoru, I’m a human.”

“But the strongest.”

“You’ve seen me bleed. I don’t plan on dying right now, but everyone dies, some sooner than others.”

Now, he finally turns to you and your smiling face. He doesn’t cry, not that you’re surprised. He's never cried.

You hear him breathe out a hum, closing his eyes. A smile graces your lips, and you brush his stray hairs from his twitching nose, which tickles him.

“Good night,” you whisper, before getting up and sitting at the chair beside your bed, and wrapping a blanket around yourself.

After a few days of no sleep, it finally hits you like bricks, a shame you have to wake up at seven, but you’ll be sure to thank those two hours of sleep that grace your schedule.

—

The yawn that passes your lips is atrocious. It's the 13th one that you’ve done, and Iori is growing irritated. “Sensei—”

“(Y/N) to you champ,” You correct her, and she bites back her tongue.

“(Y/N)-san.. did you sleep by any chance?” She asks, smiling with tight lips. You, on the other hand, raise an eyebrow, your head leaning on Mei Mei's shoulder, who’s clicking through her red flip phone.

“My personal life is none of your concern.” You tell her.

You swear, the younger these new sorcerers are, the more disrespectful they get.

It’s raining, the roads are wet and slippery. Silence fills the vehicle, aside from the frequent wipes of the window shields and Mei tapping through her phone. You don’t even remember dozing off, just appearing in front of a screwed up house.

Iori turns around, staring at her old teacher and new colleague. She respects her, but can’t stand her. She is the reason Gojo is the way he is.

“You have to keep watch out here in case anything happens.”

With your pinky finger deep in your ear, you're clearly disinterested. “Yeah yeah..” waving them off, Mei mei gives you one final look, her features resembled that of a feline, elegant and cool, she smiles, striding off with her umbrella behind the young sorcerer.

“Two hours!” You shout at their disappearing figures.

That's the reason you were there, to determine whether this was a time warping curse. It’s quite possible the flow of time is distorted in there.

So you sat, and waited. And waited, and waited, until two hours did pass.

With a sigh, you take out your flip phone, dialing Yaga and explaining to him the situation.

“The flow of time is different here, yeah. Utahime is with Mei. … After two days, come assist if Utahime can’t get it.”

You close your device, trudging into the building. Your eyes close, the smell of blood reeks, but you continue to follow the familiar cursed energy, followed by a high pitched scream.

“With a scream like that, you could be a scream queen.” You laugh, throwing your head back.

“Kamo-san!” Utahime exclaims, almost in relief.

“Yoohoo!” You greet, waving your hand at her, the other lost in your pocket.

“Have you figured it out yet?” You ask, your head tilting.

She stares at you, almost annoyed.

“Not yet.”

“You best hurry,” you start, fishing a cigarette from your pocket. It’s not boxed, your pocket is just full of cigarettes. The other pocket held the lighter. Your hand cups it, lighting the cigarette. A cloud of smoke hits her in the face, and you laugh at her, pointing as she waving her hand away.

“Sorry about that, but anyways,” your pointer finger is pointing in the air, moving in circles. “Time is running differently in here.”

“I had the feeling,” Mei says, standing besides you.

“Go on Utahime, figure it out.” You shoo her, sitting on the ground of the hallway. It's dirty, dust and bugs crawling throughout the space, but you’ve dealt with worse.

In a daze, you hear Utahime and Mei’s muffled voice, a couple thuds, then the ground, which you were sitting on, crumbling apart.

The three of you in a free fall, though the only one panicking seems to me Utahime.

You're falling in circles, hair flying everywhere, cigarette still in your mouth, you take off the bandage from your finger, opening the scab and drip blood. You bring the heat of your blood to almost boiling, turning it into vapor so you can stay above in the air.

Utahime is screaming bloody murder still, and no doubt in your mind that she could be the next scream queen.

You find yourself next to Shoko, listening to Satoru tease Utahime. “You cryin?"

“No! I’m not, respect your Seniors!” She shouts, crushed by the rubble.

You ruffle Shoko’s hair before coming behind Satoru, closing your fist you knock the back of his skull.

“Ow!” He whines, holding it in pain.

“Be respectful, kid.” You scold, blowing the smoke from your cigarette away from him. Your hand grabs ahold of the large rubble that crushes Utahime, allowing her to crawl out.

“If I was crying? Would you console me?” Mei asked, Gojo responding seriously, but also playfully.

“No way! You wouldn't cry, you're strong Mei!” He tells her, and you sigh.

Utahime, still on the ground, shoots up. The rubble pieces on her back fell, and you stared blankly at him.

“GOJO!”

Behind her, a large curse pokes up, startling Utahime, and even you a little. Utahime jumps on you, who is still holding the rubble piece up. You drop it, eyes wide as you stare at it.

“Yikes.” You whisper, when another curse eats it.

“Hey, Satoru. It’s not nice to pick on the weak!” You hear a familiar voice.

Suguru, under the influence of Satoru.

“How long do you plan on holding on for?” You ask teasingly, feeling the girl shake.

She stares into your eyes before jumping off, her face red as a tomato, teeth clenched while her finger waves at you accusingly.

“I-I- I DIDN’T MEAN THAT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE.. uh.. My dog! Yea, my dog!”

You raise an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was a bit, comforting..” you tell her, teasing her by showing her your embarrassed face, gaze to your side, flickering around before looking back into her eyes. Your arms hold yourself, and you laugh right as her mouth pops open.

She quickly leaves when she notices Shoko. Hugging the girl tightly,

“Sensei!” Shoko calls out, and you notice something.

It’s as bright as day. The sun shining down on all of you, the clouds on the blue sky.

You gaze up blankly, slightly in a daze.

“What is missing?” You whisper to yourself, your fingers rubbing on your chin.

Then, amongst their conversation, you hear one of them talk about a veil, presumably discussing an outfit, and you internally hear glass shatter.

The three students kneel in front of Yaga.

“Who was in charge of the veil?” He asks, and the two point to the one in the middle.

Satoru.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning.

Again, your phone rings. Satoru stares at you, almost accusingly, but you pay him no mind.

“Yuki,” you start, walking out the room. Satoru looks in a daze watching you leave, and Yaga following suit, punches the boys on the head before he leaves.

“Hey, we can see the hearts in your eyes.” Suguru teases, hitting his shoulder.

“Really!? You can?!” He asks, genuinely curious.

The two stop and stare at him, and Satoru feels stupid.

“I’m obviously kidding.”

“..”

“..”

“You can’t send them on that!” You shout at Yaga, so loudly that just they can hear you as clear as day.

The school rumbles under your wrath, a fee students in the classrooms fearful. But the trio in the gym stand uncaring.

“Please, Yaga.”

Yaga looks down at you, sighing before patting your head. “It’s not my decision, kid.”

You right the corners of your eyes, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I know.” You whisper, walking away from him.

When your kids were going on a life threatening mission, you were being sent off by the higher ups, finding your father.

Kenjaku.

It would be hard, considering he changes his body every few years.

You don't understand why Riko Amanai was being in the care of two second years. You’ve already been in contact with her for a couple months, filling her in on things no one else wanted to do.

You could easily take care of this, but higher-ups said Kenjaku was first.

So you bit down your tongue, swallowed the ball forming in your throat, and walked away from the school campus.

I remember Dad, he had that scar over his forehead.

You flipped open your phone, receiving a message from Yuki, which read, Sendai City, and an attached image of a woman, bobbed hair, and that same scar through her forehead holding a toddler.

You hold your breath.

A brother.

Even though the two of you, biologically speaking, had different parents, you couldn't help but notice similarities the two of you had. Same gleam in your eyes, same cheeky smile.

You found yourself chuckling a bit at the photo, and at the boy.

“Okay,” you whisper, your phone back into your pocket with a nod. Hand clenched. “Sendai,” you tell yourself, marching off.

…

…

You should have come earlier. The Jujutsu Tech, was a nightmare. Blood everywhere, a destroyed entrance, and a failed mission.

They sent you to get rid of Kenjaku, but when you heard of what had happened, you rushed back home.

Your mind running a million times a minute. Toji killed Riko, he hurt your students.

All you could think about were your boys.

“Satoru?! Suguru?!” You shout, running towards the dorm rooms. Just as your about to knock on Satoru’s door, Suguru is beside you. “He’s not in there.”

You almost gasp at his appearance, so different from what your used to. His hair is out, his eyes purple and bloodshot from crying, he’s not in his uniform.

White baggy shirt and some sweatpants you gave him as a first year that had finally come to fit him.

You give him a broken smile.

“C’mere,” you whisper, opening your arms to him. You pat his back, rubbing it in circles, but he doesn’t cry.

He trembles, but he doesn't cry.

“It was my fault, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have left—”

“I’m too weak.” He cuts you off, his forehead on your shoulder. “I can’t keep up with him anymore.” He tells you, and your heart almost breaks.

You give him a reassuring squeeze, sighing. “Suguru, in this world, nobody is truly equal.” It's the honest truth, you think. Something you wish someone had told you in your younger days. “I just hope, in this life, you can all find happiness.”

You hold his face in your hands, smiling up at him.

“My kids are growing up so big, so fast. So I'll do this one last time.” You tell him, that last part confusing him, but you notice his eyes gloss over.

One last time.

You make your way to Shoko after taking Suguru back to his bed, who is in the second year classroom, alone.

You lean at the doorway, and she doesn’t notice you. A cigarette sticking from the corner of her mouth as she flips through her medical books. A bag of opened chips sit on the three desks she put together. The room is dim, but familiar.

“There’s my favorite girl,” you greet, finally walking up to her.

She too, seems more tired than usual.

You pat her head, ruffling her hair a bit.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?” She asks with a smile, watching you stare at the three desks, letters carved into them. You chuckle, responding without looking.

“I’m here to say goodbye.”

She blinks, then laughing. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you're.. going to die..” realization hits her.

You only smile back, hand on her cheek as you stroke her with your thumb.

“Lay off on the cigarettes,” you begin, and she takes her head out of your grasp, shaking her head profusely.

“No..”

“Make sure to make your bed in the morning, brush your teeth, wash your face,”

“Stop.” She says, chewing on the cigarette.

“Oh and make sure those morons take care of themselves as well.

“Sensei!”

You stare at her, and she looks in your eyes.

You find your eyes watering. This has never happened before. You don’t recall a single memory of you crying. But, here you are. In front of one of your old students, crying.

“Ah, this is so strange.” You mutter, wiping your eyes, and Shoko stares at you, her own face growing red, eyes filled with emotion.

“Take care, Sensei.” She tells you, hugging you hard.”

You snort, squeezing her back. “You too, I love you all very much.”

You leave her back to her studying. Your first years, took it easier. They’re too gullible, to innocent, you can’t tell them.

You wave them goodbye, and lastly was Satoru.

But he wasn’t there.

He was, somewhere.

Not where she needed him.

She laughed at herself, shaking her head as she made her way back to Sendai.

Her last phone call was made to Yuki, “Hey,” you start. And she’s silent. You hear sniffles from her end of the phone, and you can’t help but tease her. “If you start crying now I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I love you.” You tell her, and she’s crying on the line, unable to say anything. You end the call, the last one to make, Satoru. Of course, he doesn’t answer, so you talk for the voicemail.

“Satoru, my boy. My pride and joy, you weren’t at school so I couldn’t talk to you face to face. And I have a lot that I want to say, but I'm running on limited time.”

You swallow, walking down the street, and hand in your pocket, other holding your flip phone to your ear.

“Don’t blame yourself, number one. I don’t wanna hear, I should have been there, or blah blah blah. Only I’m allowed to do that. Anyways, I'm sure at this point, you’re stronger than me. Way stronger than me. But, not the strongest. I’m the strongest. Does that make sense? I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I just wanted to tell you, it’s been a pleasure knowing you, and I'm sorry I won’t be able to see you become the man you’ve dreamt of being. I love you, Satoru, and take care of yourself and the other—”

Your time with the caller is over, your voicemail has been sent.

“Ah damn.” You mutter, standing in front of a warehouse.

Cursed energy if radiating from the center, so you bring your fingers up. Your pink and ring fingers interlock, your middle fingers curl, fitting side by side, and your pointer fingers are straight up, the tips touching each other, your thumbs too.

“Domain expansion: Bloody Mirror.”

Satoru hears glass breaking while on his way back to the school, his hands are in his pockets, and he’s care free, thinking about bothering his Sensei—

Screams is all he hears. Sobs, and Yaga, his head down and shaking, holding what seemed to me a bloodied armband.

Heh, funny. It looks like the same one that (Y/N) used.

Utahime stands in front of Yaga, head in her hands and shaking her head. This was just a dream, she kept telling herself, but her sobs wouldn’t stop.

“Satoru.” A voice called out, it was Yaga. Even from far away, his voice was just so clear.

His steps grew heavier, like weights were on his ankles. His posture even began slouching, with his heart racing.

“Hey Yaga! Say, where’s (Y/N)- Sensei? She’s always out and about—”

“She’s dead.”

“And she never comes home..” he says, whispering the words home. He doesn’t even realize his eyes go wide, of that the only sound he can hear is his beating heart. It scared him. Really badly, it scared him. His feet carried him to Shoko’s ‘Lab’, though it was really a morgue.

He didn’t expect to find Suguru, who was usually holed away in his room since the incident, sitting on the chair looking down. His hands clenched, he didn’t want to get up.

Shoko’s eyes were red, puffy, tired.

A cloth over the body, and his feet took him to it.

He saw someone, with the same hair color as you under there, and it had felt like he had died again.

He began peeling the cloth away, but that’s when Shoko stopped him, right below your eyes, that's where she stopped him.

What he didn’t get to see, what only Shoko saw, was the largest, hole in a person’s face she had ever scene in her small, but broad highschool years as a healer.

Not only was your mouth missing, but your arm was completely ripped off, and if she had to describe how it had been torn, it would have looked like string cheese, as though someone had torn it off in such a way, as to torture you.

Another hole through your chest, your intestines no longer existed and your spinal cord severed, but, through and through, they were told you still won.

Only dropping down when a sorcerer came, giving them a smile before plopping down.

“Let me see her.” Satoru tells her, but his grip is weak, his hands tremble.

“Let me heal her first—”

“Let me see her first! I want to see.. I want to see how she won.” He says, his voice going from a loud shout to a soft whisper.

Shoko lets go, turning away because she doesn’t want to have to bear the sight of the scene once more.

Satoru drops it, wanting to scream but nothing will come out, wanting to cry, but his eyes are just so dry.

He wants to say something, but his voice is gone.

He’s gone.

He stares down blankly at the corpse, The Strongest is dead.

The next one will take over, the cycle never ending.

He doesn't even realize that his breathing grows labored, his eyes, for the first time in his life, are unable to see.

His six eyes, the jewels of his clan, prevent him from seeing.

He can’t feel anything, he can’t move, but he finds himself in the middle of your apartment. Pictures of him and you and Shoko and Suguru, and Yaga—

Everybody.

With that dingy camera, you snapped hundreds of photos. He knew where you would hide the camera, so when he skimmed through it, he found himself falling apart. Pictured from days he doesn't even remember, his childhood all in this stupid old camera.

So stupid.

But he can’t contain himself. He can’t control his heart, the way his forehead hits the wood floors as he begs God, He who blessed the young Gojo, for her back. He would give anything for her back. His heart was with her, it would never come back.

The more he clicked through them the more he would ache. Looking at the photos with a trembling hand, he comes across one where the four of them are smushed in the back seat of a car. All of them sleeping, with someone else, presumably the driver that you threatened begged to take a photo for you. You were winking, finger to your lips like you were shushing.

Shoko was on top of your lap, Suguru and Satoru on either side, leaning on your shoulders.

He chuckled, and the more we went, the more silly photos he came across. He found himself wiping his tears away, replacing them with his laughter.

Shoved away in his pocket was your armband, which he now used as his blindfold, and in the other.

A dingy old camera to take photos, and make memories with his students.

But, sometimes, he’ll go back to the original camera, that hides away in the same drawer, looking at the past and reliving those memories.

He wonders how Megumi feels every time he looks at the numerous photos of you that are scattered in the house. The carvings of Gojo’s height, made by you as he grew. The two strongest, living in one house, at the same time. So, he looks Megumi, possibly as a projection of himself, but he has Tsumiki. He also finds it funny, when Itadori is with him, baring the same smoke you once had.

Wanting to laugh, it seems that the Strongest are always taking in the enemy's kid. It’s like a bong between them all.

From one strongest to another.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

The Golden Hour

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: The Golden Hour

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: It's in that moment that Willow realizes that over half of the photos she'd taken these past few months are of Hunter. Everywhere she looks, there he is, blushing and beaming back at her through a sea of little white polaroids. She'd set out with the sole intention of capturing all the things she felt were meaningful, beautiful — and oh, that's exactly what she'd done. Well…that's one way to find out that you're in love with someone.

At the time, she hadn't understood why she'd felt so nervous. Hunter was her friend. There was nothing weird about asking to take a photo together — they'd done it hundreds of times with Gus, Luz, Amity, and Vee. But she thinks she might be starting to get it now, heat curling up the back of her neck as she stares down at the precious photograph cradled in the palms of her hands. Perfectly centered in the little white polaroid is a picture of the two of them snuggled up together on the lumpy bean bag chair in their shack-turned-clubhouse, the tips of Hunter's ears a bright, sunburnt shade of red, smiling so wide the adorable space between his two front teeth is on full display, vibrant red eyes gazing at her like he's utterly enamored just to be next to her. Looking at her like he loves her. Looking at her the very same way she's looking at him just now.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Willow finds the camera hidden away amidst a sea of human realm junk late one afternoon while she's down the basement helping the boys set up their new sleeping arrangements. They'd gotten the bunk beds for a steal, one of the vet techs at the clinic all too happy to let Camila take them off their hands now that their boys have gone off to college.

They've just finished building the frame and dressing up the mattresses, Gus on the top bunk in the midst of an epic battle between his dinosaur plushies and Camila's old Cosmic Frontier action figures, while Hunter meticulously arranges his extensive collection of secondhand paperbacks and borrowed library books on a little shelf installed into the bottom bunk.

"And now for the final touch," Willow says, wrapping the last of the fairy lights around the post of the bottom bunk and stepping back to admire her handiwork. "There, now you've got a little reading light! Why don't you come test it out?" 

Hunter happily obliges, grabbing his most recent read (with its little cardstock paper bookmark sticking out of the top, laminated to protect all the little cardinals, bumblebees, and wildflowers hand-drawn across both sides in permanent ink) and settling back against the cushy pillows on his freshly-made bed.

"It's perfect," he sighs, wiggling his shoulders in a happy little dance that has Willow beaming at him like he's the most precious thing in the world.

She's about to ask him something, get him to tell her all about the new book he's been reading, anything to disguise the fact that she's been staring at him for far too long without saying a single word, when the sound of a dozen delicate things about to fall to the floor snaps her out of it. 

The two of them turn in time to see Camila with her arms full of enough human junk to rival Eda's collection, in the midst of trying to clear off the little desk in the far corner so the boys can have a space to work on creative projects — Hunter's been asking about the possibility of learning how to use her sewing machine, and Camila is all for encouraging her kids to pursue creative hobbies.

She's in the middle of trying to relocate a bunch of clutter when one of the objects slips loose and topples the whole thing like a jenga tower. Luckily, Willow is quick with her magic, summoning vines to catch a number of fragile-looking things before they hit the floor.

"Oh thank you, mjia," Camila sighs in relief, setting down the rest of the objects to pick up an old polaroid camera, holding it up to the light to make sure the lens hasn't cracked. "Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to this old relic."

Willow quirks a curious eyebrow, coming closer to examine the familiar-looking object.

"What is that?" she asks, running her finger over the little photo slot underneath the lens as Camila carefully deposits the camera into her hands. "It looks like one of those memory-catchers we have back in the demon realm."

"It's a little like that, except it's powered by film instead of magic…and it can't extract memories directly from your brain," Camila chuckles in relief, remembering the story Luz had told her about the time Willow's memories were nearly burned to cinders because one of her memory photos caught fire, Amity looking sheepish the entire time. "I haven't used this thing in years — probably not since before Luz was born — but I think there might still be some film left inside, and if you think you might be interested in taking up photography, I'd be happy to get you some more."

"It's important to have hobbies," she adds, giving Willow an encouraging smile. "And it might be nice if you got to capture some of the happier moments of your time here — something to show your dads when you get back home."

"I— yeah. I would love that. Thank you so much," Willow replies, cradling the camera in her hands like a precious baby bird. 

"Could you show me how to use it?" she asks, lifting the lens up to her glasses and peering inside.

"Of course," Camila says with a fond smile, gently rotating the camera so that Willow's eye lines up with the viewfinder on the other side. "And I think I know the perfect subjects for your first shot."

"Ay, you two!" she calls out to the top and bottom bunk with a cheerful smile. "Come and pose for a photo real quick."

Excited to take part in another human realm tradition, Gus hops down from the top bunk and crashes feet-first directly into Hunter's, accidentally kicking down half the books he'd just painstakingly lined up on his new shelf.

"Whoops! Sorry, dude!" Gus exclaims, hastening to clean them all up and accidentally knocking down the other half in the process, while Hunter merely falls about himself laughing.

And that's how Willow's first ever shot ends up being a candid of her two favorite boys, sprawled out across Hunter's bed, books scattered everywhere, Gus gazing at the camera with a shamefaced grin, Hunter with his head thrown back, eyes crinkled at the corners in soft little half-moons, adorable tooth gap on full display, scarred hands clutching at his stomach from the effort of laughing so hard.

Willow can't help the smile that curls across her face as the scene gradually fades into existence across the little white square. Turns out, the human realm does have its own form of magic, after all.

• • •

They're sitting on the couch a little while later, Gus utterly fascinated by the magic human picture device, bringing the portion with the little grooved opalescent box up close to his eye and gearing up to take his very first photo. Luckily, Willow is quick to snatch it from him and lift it up over his head so he doesn't blind himself with the flash.

"Amazing," Gus exclaims in a hushed whisper, dark blue eyes blinking in awe as a burst of bright white light bleaches out the wall behind him. "Oh man, imagine if I'd had something like this back when I was president of the H.A.S. Matty's gonna — what was that phrase Luz used the other day that Hunter took way too literally? Shit a brick? — when he sees this."

Willow giggles at the memory of Hunter's wide-eyed look of horror as he'd exclaimed, "But why would humans eat construction coven ingredients?"

"Yeah, I was telling Mrs. Noceda that it kind of reminds me of the ones we have back home…except apparently, this kind can't create extractable memories," Willow tells him, thinking back to the day she and Luz had cooed over each other's baby pictures. By now, Willow knows what all of her friends looked like back when they were little kids. Everyone except—

"Hey Hunter," she says, biting her lower lip to hold back a giddy smile at the thought of a tiny, adorable, toddler version of Hunter waddling through the castle halls, grinning with an even bigger gap between his two front teeth, bright red eyes full of wonder and curiosity. "Have you ever—"

But when she glances up, she finds him fast asleep, softly dozing in his bunk, scarred cheek smushed against his pillow as he curls his arms around it, Flapjack snuggled up in his hair like a makeshift nest, and oh Titan, if that isn't the cutest thing she's ever seen.

The moment she realizes she's been staring too long, Willow feels the weight of the camera drop into her lap, and glances over to find Gus smirking at her, eyes dancing back and forth between the two of them. Willow arches one very unamused eyebrow, daring him to tease her.

"What?" he says innocently, dragging out the vowel. "This is purely for blackmail purposes, I assure you."

Willow looks at him for a moment longer, and then sighs, accepting defeat. After all, this is too perfect of a moment not to capture, and if she keeps pretending like she doesn't want to, she might end up missing her only chance.

She lifts the camera to her eye just as Camila had taught her, fits him perfectly in the viewfinder in all his splendid sleepy glory, and snaps a photo. Only she completely forgot she'd left the flash on, and the moment she clicks the shutter, the whole room lights up like a supernova.

There's a soft, disgruntled groan from the bottom bunk as Gus and Willow turn to face each other, Gus's gleeful, snickering smile a perfect foil to Willow's look of wide-eyed, embarrassed horror. A moment later, Hunter blinks blearily awake to find Gus rolling around on the floor laughing, Willow little more than a green and gold blur as she bolts up the basement stairs.

• • •

Over the next couple of months, Willows falls completely in love with photography, eager to capture as many memorable moments as possible. She's collected so many photos by now, she could start a scrapbook. So that's exactly what she does — heads to the local craft store downtown and picks up a cute little photo album with a cheerful teal cover, some colorful tape, and a couple of packs of stickers featuring a collection of hearts and stars in vibrant shades of red, yellow, green, and blue.

She's sitting upstairs in Luz's bedroom with all the photos she's taken over the past couple of months spread out on the floor in front of her, trying to decide how best to arrange them. She'd made sure to choose a time when she'd have the room all to herself, Luz and Amity out on a double date with Vee and Masha.

Willow smiles as she picks up a photo from the end of summer, midnight blue sky lit up in tiny flashes of gold light as Hunter crouches in the backyard holding a jar full of fireflies, eyes wide and utterly mesmerized as one of them lands on his finger and doesn't immediately catch fire. 

That one is definitely a keeper, she decides, placing it on top of the little teal scrapbook, before moving onto the next one — one of several where she'd caught Hunter fast asleep on the living room couch, Flapjack, Clover, Emmiline, and Ghost curled up on his chest, softly dozing. 

They've made something of a habit of flocking to Hunter whenever he's asleep and using him as a cuddle spot. Maybe they consider him an honorary palisman, since he's partially made from palistrom wood? Or maybe he's just that comfy. Willow would be willing to bet that it's the latter, considering how many times she's fallen asleep on Hunter's shoulder during movie nights.

Can confirm: Hunter is super comfy to fall asleep on. And warm. And soft. And he's got a really nice bedtime story voice, too. Willow loves it when Hunter reads to her, dramatically acting out all of Captain Avery, Chief Engineer O'Bailey, and Security Officer Quando's action sequences. But even though the series has a really compelling plot and some really exciting twists (and, she's pretty sure, an adorable romance arc brewing between O'Bailey and Quando) Willow can't help but be lulled to sleep by Hunter's soft, soothing voice every time he reads to her. It's easily one of her favorite sounds in the whole world.

Willow feels her cheeks burn from how hard she's smiling, deciding that she has to put that photo in the collection as well — it's just too cute not to.

The next one is a selfie Willow took of the two of them working together in the garden, taken just seconds before she'd noticed the large swarm of bumblebees chasing Hunter down (turns out, he'd stuck his head into a wildflower patch and gotten pollen all over his sunhat, and the bees simply thought he was a giant dancing wildflower — luckily, Clover was able to swoop in and queen bee them all into submission.) Willow laughs, adding the photo to the pile.

Next is a photo of Hunter diligently working at his little crafting desk, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration as he puts together his first big sewing project: a replica of the outfit worn by his favorite character from Cosmic Frontier, insisting that this is peak fashion from the year 2008. Willow can't help but agree wholeheartedly when he steps into their clubhouse decked out in the costume the very next day, cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink when she'd goggled at him and exclaimed, "Oh, that is a look!" before eagerly snapping his photo. Willow giggles as she stacks both photos into the scrapbook pile.

Halloween is definitely a memory for the books, Willow decides as she grins down at the group photo Camila had taken of the six of them the night they'd all gone to the festival in Old Gravesfield — Luz and Amity in their matching Hecate and Azura costumes, Gus and Hunter in their red and gold Cosmic Frontier jumpsuits (both meticulously and proudly hand-sewn by Hunter himself) Vee in her normal basilisk form (knowing full well she'll win most realistic costume at the festival) and Willow, dressed in her purloined devil-bat costume, Hunter beaming at her as she flashes her plastic vampire teeth at the camera and does her best spooky villain cackle.

The next couple dozen are of a photo booth session with Gus and Hunter, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders as the three of them make increasingly silly faces at the camera. Willow looks at them closely, noticing for the first time that in at least half of them, Hunter is looking at her, cheeks tinged pink as he gazes at her with a smile that could melt all the snow off the Knee. Willow adds them all to the scrapbook pile because she can't bear to part with a single one.

The next one makes Willow's heart stutter in her chest, catching sight of Hunter's face pressed in close next to hers. Willow remembers that day — remembers how hard her heart had been pounding as she'd taken what felt like a giant leap and asked Hunter to pose with her, just the two of them.

At the time, she hadn't understood why she'd felt so nervous. Hunter was her friend. There was nothing weird about asking to take a photo together — they'd done it hundreds of times with Gus, Luz, Amity, and Vee. But she thinks she might be starting to get it now, heat curling up the back of her neck as she stares down at the precious photograph cradled in the palms of her hands.

Perfectly centered in the little white polaroid is a picture of the two of them snuggled up together on the lumpy bean bag chair in their shack-turned-clubhouse, the tips of Hunter's ears a bright, sunburnt shade of red, smiling so wide the adorable space between his two front teeth is on full display, vibrant red eyes gazing at her like he's utterly enamored just to be next to her. Looking at her like he loves her. Looking at her the very same way she's looking at him just now.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh Titan.

It's in that moment that Willow realizes that over half of the photos she'd taken these past few months are of Hunter. Everywhere she looks, there he is, blushing and beaming back at her through a sea of little white polaroids. 

She'd set out with the sole intention of capturing all the things she felt were meaningful, beautiful — and oh, that's exactly what she'd done. 

Well…that's one way to find out that you're in love with someone.

Willow gathers up all the "evidence" off the floor before anyone can come back and see them, meticulously counting out the number of Hunter-centric photos she includes in her scrapbook, making sure his don't outnumber anyone else's, lest they put two and two together and starting getting any funny ideas, shoving the rest of them into a shoebox labeled "pumpkin seeds" under her little camper bed.

And if she ends up pinning that last photo of the two of them to the wall above her bed, beaming up at it every night before she goes to sleep…well, Hunter doesn't have to know about that.

…until he happens to glance at it late one afternoon when he comes up to lend Willow the next volume of Cosmic Frontier, face somehow blushing an even deeper shade of red than the one in the photo.

Willow ends up having to buy a whole new scrapbook just to commemorate their very first date.

Elements of this story were inspired by art by gravityfying [x] art by rileyclaw [1] [2] and tumblr posts by lollytea [1] [2]

[pucks-goals-penalties]

Fa La La Falling

Happy Winter Fic Exchange! So this is my very first time writing real person fic. And it's right down to the wire. Thank you to @wyattjohnston for hosting it and giving me the opportunity to participate. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out exactly like what I had in mind, but life got kinda crazy, but I’m still pretty happy with how it turned out. This piece is for @nol-pat, Katie I hope you like it! 🙂

Leaning agains the window, you admired the way the city started to come to life early in the morning.

The soft glow of the sun and the sparkling coat of snow across the city streets—still pristine, not yet marred by city life. Warm tendrils of steam drifted up from the mug cradled in your hands and caressed your face as you woke up with the city. As your body woke up, the anxious feeling you had gone to bed with began to once again rear its head, and it made you think about just how you ended up here.

———

You were lucky enough to meet Jack when you did. You were at a local café with a friend, the hockey season was gearing up to start and the two of you were talking hockey and the most recent draft. As you claimed your drinks from the counter, you were paying little attention to the people around you, too caught up in your discussion. In the midst of a collision and spilling your drinks, your friend was the first to take notice of exactly who you had crashed into.

“Oh my god, you’re Jack Hughes!”

Her utterance was just met with a frown turned smirk that morphed into a smile. After a quick photo session, some conversation, and replacing of drinks, you were on your way out of the café with a new drink, a new phone number, and a new friend in Jack Hughes. 

———

Your boyfriend of just over a year at the time, struggled with the concept of your friendship with the NHLer. Eventually, he came around to Jack and the idea of him. The two men in your life co-existed and it worked. Now coming up on 3 years since that fateful café meeting, you couldn’t imagine your life without the man who was now, one of your best friends. And the day you met his captain, Nico Hischier, the man responsible for your feelings, was another day forever etched into your memories. 

———

It had come to the point in the season where family skate was coming up, and Jack didn’t hesitate to extend an invitation to you. You checked with him so many times in the weeks leading up to the event, making sure that it was okay that you came along even though you weren’t a girlfriend or actually family. In response Jack said to you, “you are my family, you have been for quite some time. Who are they to tell me exactly what that word means.”

After that, that particular conversation topic was put to bed. This didn’t stop you from bringing up other concerns with your attendance—were Ellen and Jim okay with you crashing (they were) and if Luke was okay if you came along (he was, you were kinda like a sister to him anyways) and if he was really sure he wanted you to come along, gently reminding him about possible reactions if you ended up pictured together on social media (he was sure). 

When the day finally came, it was a quintessential New Jersey winter day outside, a blanket of snow coating as far as you could see, adding a bit extra of that winter magic. The powdery coating prompted Jack to pick you up. He didn’t like you driving in the snow, and honestly, you weren’t particularly fond of it either. 

Settled in the vehicle, you chatted with Ellen all the way to the arena. She made sure to thank you for being there for her boy and it took you no time to assure her that being a part of Jacks life, and now Luke’s too, was your pleasure. Jack had become your best friend and you were lucky to have such wonderful boys in your life. 

As you walked down the tunnels at Pru centre, side-by-side with Ellen, a shiver raced down your spine, the adrenaline wearing off and being replaced by the icy chill in the air. The boys had hurried ahead leaving you to trail behind in the company of the heads of the Hughes family. In the silence of the hall, even the mindless chatter about their game only hours earlier wasn’t enough to distract the nerves wreaking havoc on your system, so staring at the locker room door, your fingers tapped relentlessly against your thigh. Frazzled, though it felt like it had been forever when realistically it had only been 45 minutes, when Jack popped his head out the doorway you felt a bit relieved. 

“You ready?” He asked as his eyes met yours, beckoning you toward the room. The only assurance you could offer was a shrug and half-smile, not wanting to back out of the agreement you had made days ago. 

All eyes were on you as you breached the doors. Another shiver ran down your spine and this time you were certain it was nerves (no way it could’ve been the beautiful brown eyes that had been directed your way since you walked in—not that you noticed). Looking around the room you waved to the other guys with a shy smile. As your eyes met his, it momentarily felt as if the rest of the world faded away. It took Jack calling your name multiple times to break you out of your trance.

———

Since that meeting, you and Nico had gotten close, developing a friendship you hadn’t expected. He had become your confidant, and you his, save from one very specific topic—you. Because of course, he couldn’t tell you that the crush he had developed all those years ago, when you first appeared on Jack’s instagram, had turned to him falling in love with you. Despite the presence of your boyfriend, who on every interaction, left a bad taste in his mouth. Despite being your sounding board for the romance, cute dates, and anniversaries. Despite being a counsellor for you, helping to sort out your relationship troubles. Despite the fact that listening to you talk about your boyfriend like he hung the moon felt worse than being sent head first into the boards repeatedly. Having that little piece of you, even if just as a friend, was better than not having you at all. 

Over that period, Nico tried his darnedest to make sure you didn’t know about his feelings. Even though he knew it wasn’t fair, he got himself a girlfriend, to try and move on. But just because he was good at hiding them from you, doesn’t mean it was the same with the guys. He’d heard multiple times from his siblings—after letting your name slip over the phone with Nina—and his teammates, even the ones who normally wouldn’t get involved were chirping him.  

The biggest thorn in his side however was Jack, who just wanted to see his two best friends happy. Especially, after the horrendous breakup with Mason that happened on Halloween just weeks prior. Your now ex boyfriend, had left you high-and-dry for the Devil’s couples costume contest, and Nico had stepped in like a good friend does. You were extremely grateful for him, of course, but it still hurt. It didn’t help that Mason breezed in hours later, yelling at you for getting Nico involved, and then breaking up with you in quick succession. 

Since then Jack had formulated a plan to try and push you and Nico closer together, especially when he learned about your growing feelings. He had meddled so hard, that for the Devil’s 2024 Christmas party, the team was now getting involved in Secret Santa, and you had gotten Nico’s name—purely by design.

Now, here you are, arriving at the party nerves at an all time high. You carefully placed the wrapped box under the tree upon your arrival at the apartment nerves buzzing in anticipation for the evening. You could only hope that Nico liked the gift you got him. It had been something you talked about together, he wanted to make more memories, more experiences rather than just hockey all the time. 

“‘Aight cap, its your turn.” Jack announced, handing the gifts out. 

Watching with baited breath, you kept your eyes trained on the warping paper being torn. Only when his smile lit up the room, did you allow yourself to calm down. His eyes traveled the circle before landing on you, and if possible, his smile widened. You felt your cheeks flush, only holding his eyes for a moment before looking away. 

“Okay! Y/n, your turn!” Luke said, handing you the envelope with your name on it. 

Carefully, not wanting to tear whatever was inside, you slid your finger under the lip of the envelope, separating the two sides. Flipping it open you pulled out a gift card and as you turned it over, you felt your face get hot. Hoots and hollers filled the room as they took notice of the Tinder gift card clutched in your hands. Keeping your face trained on the card out of embarrassment, you didn’t look up until you caught movement out of the corner of your eye, just in time to catch the back of Nico’s silhouette heading toward the balcony. Jack caught your eye and nodded his head in the direction his captain went. Excusing yourself, you followed the man outside. 

Only when you slid the door shut behind you did Nico acknowledge your presence. 

“I don’t want to talk Jack.”

“‘m not Jack,” you said softly, not wanting to startle him. He turned around and looked at you with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Why’d you leave?”

“It was just too much. I really loved my gift though, sünneli.”

You watched as his cheeks flushed red, and you had an inkling that it wasn’t just the cold. “What do you mean too much?”

He was silent for so long that you thought he decided just to not answer. “The gift card, it’s just too much. I don’t think my heart can watch you love someone else again.”

Mouth agape, you just stared at him. The words taking you by surprise. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, because I’ve been so secretive Schätzi.”

While you were talking, the two of you had moved closer together. So close, that you could feel his breath on your cheek as he spoke. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you spoke. “Maybe Jack let something slip, luckily, I feel the same way.”

No more words were shared as his lips slotted against yours. The kiss was nothing like you imagined and yet it was better than anything you had experienced. As you pulled apart, looking into his eyes, you cheeks were flushed and grins were matching. Grateful for the meddling of your best friend.

Maybe Christmas magic exists after all. 

[bookishbrigitta]

Han/Leia, 35

35. What are their tastes in music?

Ooooh, I'm glad you asked!

So, Han is the easiest for me to figure this one out for. I definitely think he's into the punk rock scene (especially The Clash because I am shamelessly biased, lol). I also think he'd really, really like Johnny Cash. The Falcon is so One Piece At A Time-coded it hurts. Cash's main discography is about the working class, lonely boys, daddy issues, hating cops, and being ridiculously in love with your wife (although Johnny did have two...), so I think Han would really like him.

And just look at this photo and tell me it wasn't THE inspiration for Han Solo:

Leia is a little harder to figure out. She'd undoubtedly have an appreciation for classical music, being from a royal family and all. But as a character from a pacifist planet that got involved in an anti-colonialist, anti-fascist rebellion in a movie series conceived in the midst of the 1970s, I think Leia would like folk music -- Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Pete Seeger, that sort of thing. If he is a thing in GFFA, an early friendly conversation between Han and Leia might be about Bob Dylan. I also think she'd vibe with Carole King, but that's probably my bias again.

From V-Day ask list

[ros64]

From @dianagabaldon site

⚠️⚠️ATTENZIONE SPOILER PER CHI NON HA LETTO TUTTI I LIBRI FINO A BEES ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Today is the Fourth (and final) Sunday of Advent. The waiting is almost over, but the anticipation is still to be enjoyed. The final candle (since we’ve used the other labels) is Peace.

Peace is one of those things that you can’t really define (not that people don’t, but—like love—it has depths and shimmering facets of meaning), but you know it when you encounter it. Hence the Biblical quote, “The peace that passeth understanding.”

Peace often comes and finds you in the midst of Things (like realizing you’re leaving for the journey to another city for Christmas in two hours, and you haven’t yet wrapped the presents that you need to drop off at FedEx on the way…), and we often don’t realize that this happens because we carry peace with us, all the time.

Peace is part of our nature, just as we’re part of nature.

Now, I’m a biologist by training, and am also one of those people who (as my father disapprovingly said (manymanymany times), “have your head in the clouds!” (Like this was a _bad_ thing…) Yep. Also on the ground.

Rocks come and find me, and it’s rare for me to come home from a walk _without_ a rock in my pocket. So a few days ago, I was walking with Lucy the dachshund, to whom “walk” means “sniff everything in sight, pausing occasionally to pee on it”, and as usual, glancing over the ground we were walking on, which—being a desert front yard in Scottsdale, was mostly crushed granite. But in the midst of this layer of pinkish rock was the little gray visitor you see in the photo above.

This is a tiny survivor of a volcanic explosion that took place many miles away. Plainly, it’s a rock—but one that’s been through Stuff. It’s been melted by the heat of the Earth’s core, and blown far abroad, with those little holes the scars left by the violent gasses that propelled it.

What could be less peaceful?

And yet, there it is. Basking in the sun, resting among strangers.

No matter what’s happened to it, it remains what it is. It carries peace, because peace is its nature—as it is ours. Wait, and listen for the peace that lives within you to whisper your name.

Merry Christmas!

EXCERPT from BOOK TEN (Untitled), Copyright 2024 Diana Gabaldon

William washed his face—it was thick with stubble, but no point in trying to shave without mirror or soap—and made his way downstairs.

The smell of food reached him at the top of the stairs and drew him down like a mosquito scenting blood, single-minded in his voracity. And a good thing, too, he realized as he entered the kitchen. He was so hungry that he’d suffered no hesitations regarding his welcome.

In fact, while everyone at table turned to look at him, all the faces bore smiles, whether shy or broad, and he bowed to them, smiling back.

“Good morning,” he said, and the smallest girl—Amanda, that was her name—giggled and pointed her spoon at him.

“Your beard looks like Grand-da’s!”

A ripple of stifled amusement ran round the table, but before he could think of something to say, Mother Claire rose and took him by the sleeve, showing him to a place on the bench beside Frances, who looked up at him demurely.

“I hope you thl-slept well?” she said. Her cheeks were pink, but she met his eyes straight on, and he felt a slight jolt; her eyes were very much like Jane’s.

“Immensely well, I thank you,” he assured her. A trencher appeared before him, piled with toast and bacon, and Amanda’s brother—James? No, Jeremiah, Jem, that was it, a tall, red-haired boy, thin as an oak sapling—shoved a pot of strawberry jam across the table.

“What do we call him?” the boy asked, turning to his grandfather. “Uncle Billy?”

William choked slightly on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken. Frances, Claire, and the three little girls _all_ giggled, and he thought Fraser might have done as well, were he capable of making such a sound. As it was, Fraser kept a relatively straight face, and replied, “Not unless he asks ye to. ‘Til then, ye can call him Mr. Ransom, aye?”

William cleared his throat.

“You may call me William for the present, if you like,” he said to Jem. “I haven’t had a great deal of practice in being an uncle, as yet.”

“Don’t pester your uncle,” Mother Claire said, setting down a dish of succulent, glistening sausages, smelling of sage and onion, in front of William. “Let him eat.”

He ate like a ravening wolf, listening to the conversation with one ear, but making no effort to join it. His cup was filled—and refilled—with the very good beer, and he finished the meal replete—well, stuffed like a goose—and wondering whether he might go find a tree to sleep under for a bit.

“I’ll be goin’ to and fro on the Ridge today, fettling my tenants,” Fraser told him, brushing crumbs off his lap. He handed a fragment of toast to the big bluetick bitch who had been waiting patiently by his feet, and rose. “D’ye want to come with me?”

“I—yes. I suppose so,” William replied, taken aback at the invitation. He remembered Mac the groom saying “fettled,” with regard to grooming and feeding horses, but he supposed that Fraser merely meant that he proposed to tell his tenants that he would be gone for some time, and arrange for payment of rents to some factor.

Fraser nodded.

“Aye, good. I’ll say you’re my son, though most of them will ken it already, after yesterday.” He cocked a brow in question. Was that agreeable to William?

That made his full stomach drop another inch or two, but he nodded back.

“Of course. May I take time to shave?”

“Aye. Use the soap and basin in my room. It’s the one in front, on the left as ye go up.”

The room was large and pleasant, the window opened for air, but screened with muslin to keep insects out, and the diffused light gave the room a pleasant, quiet feel, like being inside a cloud, despite the muffled racket from the kitchen below. William found himself breathing shallowly, aware of the unfamiliar, intimate scent of the room. The bed had not yet been made, and while the thrown-back sheets were clean, they held the faint, disturbing musk of recent bodies.

If the intimacy of the Frasers’ bedroom was disturbing, the intimacy of using Mr. Fraser’s shaving soap was more so. It was soft, white Castile soap, and smelled of olive-oil, but also of basil and what he thought was marjoram, and…could that possibly be geranium-leaf? He hadn’t seen or smelt a geranium plant since he left England, and it gave him a brief sense of dislocation, a vivid sense of his Aunt Minnie’s conservatory, redolent with foreign flowers and writhing exotic greenery.

The thought made him feel more settled in himself. No matter what the future held, he still had both a past and a present, and those must be sufficient to keep him in countenance for what might come.

Refreshed and clean-shaven, he came downstairs, ready to see exactly what “fettling” might involve.

Oggi è la quarta (e ultima) domenica di Avvento. L'attesa è quasi finita, ma l'attesa è ancora da godere. L'ultima candela (dato che abbiamo usato le altre etichette) è Peace.

La pace è una di quelle cose che non puoi davvero definire (non che la gente non lo faccia, ma, come l'amore, ha profondità e sfaccettature scintillanti di significato), ma la conosci quando la incontri. Da qui la citazione biblica, "La pace che passa la comprensione".

La pace spesso arriva e ti trova in mezzo alle cose (come renderti conto che stai partendo per il viaggio in un'altra città per Natale tra due ore, e non hai ancora incartato i regali che devi lasciare da FedEx sulla strada...), e spesso non ci rendiamo conto che questo accade perché portiamo la pace con noi, tutto il tempo.

La pace fa parte della nostra natura, proprio come noi facciamo parte della natura.

Ora, sono un biologo di formazione, e sono anche una di quelle persone che (come ha detto mio padre con disapprovazione (molte molte molte volte), "tai la testa tra le nuvole!" (Come se questa fosse una cosa _brutta_...) Sì. Anche a terra.

Le rocce vengono a trovarmi, ed è raro per me tornare a casa da una passeggiata _senza_ una pietra in tasca. Quindi qualche giorno fa, stavo camminando con Lucy il bassotto, per la quale "camminare" significa "annusare tutto ciò che è in vista, fermandosi di tanto in tanto per fare pipì sopra", e come al solito, guardando il terreno su cui stavamo camminando, che, essendo un cortile del deserto a Scottsdale, era per lo più di granito schiacciato. Ma nel mezzo di questo strato di roccia rosata c'era il piccolo visitatore grigio che vedi nella foto sopra.

Questo è un piccolo sopravvissuto a un'esplosione vulcanica che ha avuto luogo a molte miglia di distanza. Chiaramente, è una roccia, ma una che è stata attraverso Stuff. È stato fuso dal calore del nucleo della Terra, e soffiato lontano all'estero, con quei piccoli buchi le cicatrici lasciate dai gas violenti che lo hanno spinto.

Cosa potrebbe essere meno pacifico?

Eppure, eccolo lì. Crogiolarsi al sole, riposare in mezzo agli estranei.

Non importa cosa gli sia successo, rimane quello che è. Porta la pace, perché la pace è la sua natura, come è nostra. Aspetta e ascolta la pace che vive dentro di te per sussurrare il tuo nome.

Buon Natale!

Estratto non indedito dal Libro Dieci (Senza titolo), Copyright 2024 Diana Gabaldon

Traduzione a cura di

Rilasciato sulla pagina fb di diana per la QUARTA DOMENICA di AVVENTO

William si lavò il viso - la barba era folta , ma non aveva senso cercare di radersi senza specchio o sapone - e si diresse al piano di sotto.

L'odore del cibo lo raggiunse in cima alle scale e lo attirò verso il basso come una zanzara che fiuta il sangue, con la sua voracità. E fu un bene, se ne rese conto entrando in cucina.

Era così affamato che non ebbe nessuna remora riguardo alla sua accoglienza.

Infatti, mentre tutti i commensali si voltavano a guardarlo, su ciascun volto compariva un sorriso, timido o ampio che fosse, ed egli si inchinò a loro, ricambiando il sorriso.

"Buongiorno", disse, e la bambina più piccola, Amanda, questo era il suo nome, fece una smorfia e lo indicò con il cucchiaio.

"La tua barba assomiglia a quella del nonno!".

Un'ondata di divertimento soffocato fece il giro del tavolo, ma prima che potesse pensare a qualcosa da dire, Madre Claire si alzò e lo prese per la manica, indicandogli un posto sulla panca accanto a Frances, che lo guardò pudicamente.

"Spero che tu abbia dormito bene", disse. Le sue guance erano rosa, ma lo guardò dritto negli occhi e lui provò un leggero sussulto: i suoi occhi erano molto simili a quelli di Jane.

"Immensamente bene, grazie", le assicurò. Davanti a lui apparve una teglia, piena di pane tostato e pancetta, e il fratello di Amanda, James? No, Jeremiah, Jem, ecco, un ragazzo alto, dai capelli rossi, magro come un alberello di quercia, spinse sul tavolo un vasetto di marmellata di fragole.

"Come dobbiamo chiamarlo?", chiese il ragazzo rivolgendosi al nonno. "Zio Billy?"

William quasi soffocò con il sorso di birra che aveva appena bevuto. Frances, Claire e le tre bambine ridacchiarono tutte e pensò che anche Fraser avrebbe potuto farlo, se fosse stato capace di emettere un suono simile. Invece Fraser mantenne una faccia relativamente seria e rispose: "No, a meno che non te lo chieda lui. Fino ad allora, potete chiamarlo signor Ransom, d'accordo?".

William si schiarì la gola.

"Per ora potete chiamarmi William, se volete", disse a Jem. "Non ho ancora fatto molta pratica nel fare lo zio".

"Non infastidire tuo zio", disse Madre Claire, mettendo davanti a William un piatto di salsicce succulente e luccicanti, che profumavano di salvia e cipolla. "Lascialo mangiare".

William mangiò come un lupo famelico, ascoltando la conversazione con un orecchio, ma senza fare alcuno sforzo per unirvisi . Il suo bicchiere fu riempito - e riempito di nuovo - con dell'ottima birra, ed egli finì il pasto sazio - anzi, ripieno come un'oca - chiedendosi se poteva andare a cercare un albero sotto cui dormire per un po'.

"Oggi andrò in giro per il Ridge a "sistemare" i miei fittavolii", gli disse Fraser, spazzolandosi le briciole dalle ginocchia. Passò un pezzo di pane tostato al grosso cane bluetick che aspettava pazientemente ai suoi piedi e si alzò. "Vuoi venire con me?".

"Sì. Suppongo di sì", rispose William, colto di sorpresa dall'invito. Ricordava che Mac lo stalliere diceva "fettled/sistemare", riferendosi alla strigliatura e al nutrimento dei cavalli, ma immaginò che Fraser volesse semplicemente dire ai suoi affittuari che sarebbe stato via per qualche tempo, e organizzare il pagamento degli affitti a qualche fattore.

Fraser annuì.

"Sì, bene. Dirò che sei mio figlio, anche se la maggior parte di loro lo saprà già, dopo ieri". Aggrottò un sopracciglio in segno di domanda. William era d'accordo?

Questo gli fece stringere lo stomaco pieno di un altro paio di centimetri, ma annuì.

"Certo. Posso avere il tempo di radermi?".

"Sì. Usa il sapone e la bacinella nella mia stanza. È quella di fronte, sulla sinistra salendo".

La stanza era ampia e piacevole, la finestra si apriva per l'aria, ma era schermata con una mussola per tenere lontani gli insetti, e la luce diffusa dava alla stanza una sensazione piacevole e tranquilla, come se ci si trovasse all'interno di una nuvola, nonostante il frastuono ovattato proveniente della cucina sottostante.

William si ritrovò a respirare superficialmente, consapevole dell'odore intimo e sconosciuto della stanza. Il letto non era ancora stato rifatto e, sebbene le lenzuola gettate all'indietro fossero pulite, contenevano un lieve odore persistente di corpi .

Se l'intimità della camera da letto dei Fraser era inquietante, l'intimità dell'uso del sapone da barba di mr Fraser lo era ancora di più. Era un sapone di Castiglia bianco e morbido, che profumava di olio d'oliva, ma anche di coriandolo e di quella che pensava fosse maggiorana, e... poteva forse trattarsi di foglie di geranio? Non aveva più visto né annusato una pianta di geranio da quando aveva lasciato l'Inghilterra, e questo gli diede un breve senso di dislocazione, una vivida sensazione del giardino d'inverno di sua zia Minnie, profumato di fiori stranieri e di una contorta vegetazione esotica.

Il pensiero lo fece sentire più stabile. Non importava cosa gli riservasse il futuro, aveva ancora sia un passato che un presente, e questi dovevano essere sufficienti a fargli mantenere la calma interiore di fronte a ciò che sarebbe potuto accadere.

Rinfrescato e ben rasato, scese le scale, pronto a vedere cosa esattamente implicava questo “sistemare”.

[alpineshift]

okay, I have no idea how coherent this is going to be, so bear with me, but here are my thoughts on jealous!Jack...

first and foremost, we must set the scene. I think my favorite thing about Devils games is that Nico is always finding himself in a situation. This is really due to the fact that he's always net front, always going into the dirty spaces, always in the midst of puck battles, and isn't afraid to use his skating ability to outsmart an opponent.

I'm thinking specifically of these moments: Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C.

and I'm just imagining Jack either on the ice or on the bench watching things like this happen all game, every game. Like Nico's a one man charm offensive right and he doesn't this turn this charm off on the ice or off the ice, and so Jack day in, day out, is not only seeing his own teammates fall all over themselves trying to impress Nico or get a head pat from Nico, but the media who are also a little bit in love with him, and now also dudes from other teams.

and you add this to Jack's mile long praise kink, and you get Jack being Jack and then all of his cellies especially from the 2022-2023 season involve him making sure to get his hugs/pats/praise/love from Nico. he loves that attention and he wants to make sure everyone out there knows that although Nico may be a charm machine, its Jack who Nico belongs to and vice versa.

casual possessive hand on Nico's number, skipping the celly line to go straight to Nico and then getting cockblocked by Colin Miller, casual possessive bear paws around Nico in the singles corner of a team photo, scooching across the bench to get his head pats

just love the idea of like Jack needing to balance the fact that he knows Nico is the Captain and he knows Nico needs to make time for all of the Devs boys, but Jack also wants his Nico all to himself.

and Nico always indulges him. every time Jack uses his stick to get Nico's attention, on the bench, during a celly, during a conference before a face off, after a game, any time Jack wants Nico's attention, Nico will always give it. its a symbiotic relationship.

but basically, everyone's a little bit in love with Nico right. like look at him. and look at how everyone in the league interacts with him. everyone's definitely a little in love with Nico, and Jack knows Nico only has eyes for him, but it does drive him a little bit bat shit that all of these people are constantly getting put under a spell by Nico's dimples and his cow eyes.

there's also this silly little headcanon I had back when Timo first joined the team last season about how Jack maybe felt a type of way about another guy joining the team that Nico has history/shared life experience with. maybe Jack decides to learn Swiss for like five minutes to try to understand what Timo and Nico are laughing about in Swiss German all the time.

I dunno, there's a lot going on in my noggin about this. its my absolute favorite because like Jack was THE boy at the USNTDP and everyone kind of circles around him and he's a first overall and on the Devils, the team, the media, the narratives circle around him. and you put that together with the magnetic pull of one Nico Hischier and oh boy whats Jack's brain doing now huh?

this is getting far too long, so I'm gonna just shut up now, very sorry for like word vomiting in your ask box, ahahaha!

trust me I have SO many thoughts about this. so many.

the way I am CHOWING DOWN on this...help me...I literally went and made myself a tea so I could tuck in and unspool your ask in its full glory. THANK YOU. this is my jealous jack bible now LOL

reading this has made me realize Nico is basically a capybara LOL. chill, cute, friend shaped, minds his own biz, universally beloved and makes buddies across all animal kingdoms. none of us are immune to the Nico CharmTM, least of all hockey players, least of all jack hughes. that backhug picture of them from the team gathering gets me every time. I love to see it.

the layers are there and they are so endearing. I'm living for your Timo headcanon bc I recently had the experience of seeing a Timo pic on the devil's social media and went "oh whoa holy shit he's good looking" so I can project this feeling onto Jack, who's torn between wow he's good looking to him and nico are real close and idk how to feel about that levels of internal conflict. meanwhile those two are just gabbing on about absolutely nothing of importance hfnshffn.

I love that you shared all this with me!! thank you!! I too can go on for days daydreaming of the lore and the webs and the intricacies!! come back whenever you want and leave more charming nuggets in my inbox ❤️

[morningofmarigolds]

Pirata & Capitano Headcanons

Hello, desolate quiet fandom!

I really love this show. I often ponder at the ability of a relatively saccharine little cartoon about the friendship of two seven-year-olds to capture my heart, but it did. And I have no regrets. Because I just finished watching the second season for the first time, I decided to come up with a few, harmless headcanons about the Pink Skull crew and all the things they get up to. Nothing too intense, just some little tidbits to contribute to the fans (all three of us).

Weboo

Being part of the crew was the best thing that happened to him. Before meeting Pirata, he was still at a loss of what to do with himself. Though he had a loving family, especially his uncle, he was in the midst of a "who am I" phase of life.

Though he knows Pirata will never admit it, part of the reason Pirata chose him as first mate was because of his music. She loved his rendition of "At The Codfish Ball" and often fell asleep to his singing.

Every crew member loves the sound of Weboo's voice at night. It almost becomes a subconscious part of their nighttime routine. Sometimes, when Capitano is having nightmares (what they consist of is between the both of them), he'll get Weboo to sing for him.

Weboo always gets the first taste of Roberto's dishes. He isn't always the most honest, since he'll eat everything Roberto prepares. Sometimes, when Roberto is worked up, Weboo will make his dishes seem like the best thing in the world. Which they are, to Weboo at least (sometimes he thinks Roberto stresses a little too much).

Dany has secretly debuted his interest in painting. It started with a simple discussion over whether the crew got their portrait painted. Dany, glad that someone decided to compliment him on his work, excitedly starts recounting his creation process and the struggles of coming up with the perfect work, something Weboo can relate to. Whenever they have the opportunity, Dany and Weboo go over certain techniques, and pretty soon Weboo finds himself sketching with whatever he can get. One morning he awakens to find some pens, markers and an art book with a note signed with two cat ears. 

Relating to the third one, Weboo and Capitano are the best of friends. It took a lot of self-restraint for Weboo to not assist Capitano in almost beating up Dodo during his illness façade. He’s a good secret-keeper, so Weboo is the only person within the crew who knows of Capitano’s nightmares and where they stem from. Weboo will  sing “The Song of The Sea” as many times as it takes to comfort the little pilot.

As much as he respects Pirata as a captain, he knows that she's still a little girl. Weboo never grows tired of her endless chatter while slipping her hand into his (no matter how many times he’s heard the subject before), and is happy to throw her up in the air or spin her around on occasion. 

Whenever Weboo writes a new song, the Star Pirates are the first ones to sing it.

Roberto

There are three people Roberto has permanently banned from cooking in his kitchen: The Buccaneer (he doesn't keep bleach in the kitchen due to the Nuclear Grapes Incident), Murana (he was sure she was trying to create some type of poison using his soup as a disguise) and Pirata (who has set the kitchen on fire at least seven times trying to make tea).

Meowcat and Roberto are besties. He is the one he will secretly rant to about all his daily annoyances and grievances. Sometimes he will even get her opinion. Of course, since Meowcat's taste veers mostly to milk, pollen balls and fish, he doesn't often take her advice.

Roberto is a complete mama's boy. There is a reason he keeps her photo in the kitchen. Cooking always helps him feel close to her.

A part of Roberto still wants to open that restaurant he wanted to retire to in that one episode. Though he loves the crew, he is a bit resentful of how they tried to make him stay. Maybe when Pirata is a little older, he'll bring up the idea again.

Pirata is so impulsive a good portion of the time that a part of Roberto is pretty much resigned to her ideas and met her desire to cross the Cape of Castaways with a sarcastic, "That's perfect. I'll need five minutes to write my obituary."

Pineapple Wilson

Pineapple Wilson is the greatest translator of the Great Ocean. He speaks 25 languages in all. Sometimes he will help Peppa in writing letters to her friends and advisors for her research papers.

Sometimes, he'll get Weboo to play songs whenever he has a romantic dinner with Barbara.

He cannot lie. At all. Almost everyone is able to pick up on it, Inky especially. She knew about Barbara before anyone else did.

Capitano is also able to pick up on it, but in a six-year-old way. At least it spared him the awkwardness of having to fully explain why he and Barbara were taking so long mapping out flight routes on Silvertone Island (in spite of the fact that Capitano doesn't buy the "we needed to get more paper" excuse).

He tried having Barbara over for a study date once, and only once. He never realized how awkward the crew could make things (from the endless amount of times Roberto came to drop off donuts, to the Star Pirates' endless questions, to Pirata coming every five minutes to get a book and an atlas . . . could they not leave him alone for one minute?)

The Star Pirates

Pirata reads stories from Owly The Dreamer's storybook to them every now and then before bed.

Splish in particular befriended that Rainbow Octopus from one of his stories. Sometimes she convinces the crew to go visit him.

Ever since Splosh was frozen by that mystical mirror, she developed a severe dislike of them.

Splash, the most adventurous of the two, aspired to have a sea plane of her own ever since she took her first flight alongside Splosh and Splish.

Of the three, Splish is the shyest. Splash is the leader of the trio and Splosh is the most temperamental and passionate.

Dodo The Devious has a soft spot for them. It's why he forgave them so easily for taking his boat to retrieve Pryor's lost feather.

Capitano

Though most of the crew know his father (one of the Great Ocean’s most respected pilots) passed away, only Weboo knows how he died, and that he saw it. Weboo has been trying to get him to open up without much luck. There is a reason why Roberto finds two mugs in the sink and is short on a couple of tea leaves on some mornings.

Sometimes, when Capitano is upset, he’ll pull his scarf over his face. It used to belong to his late father and still retains his scent. Pineapple Wilson knows when Capitano wants some alone time whenever he sees the raised scarf.

Though he can tolerate the other major pirates, some more than others, Pepe is the exception (though he isn’t alone in this sentiment; the opinion of all the guild members vary from moderate avoidance to intense hatred).

Capitano and Murana test out the Fly Boat together sometimes, going over the surrounding area in silence. The Cursed Strait was where they both lost everything important. Neither of them like each other, but they are the only ones who understand the helplessness of watching a loved one die. So on these test runs, there are no arguments or insults, just the sound of the wind.

Whenever he learns Roberto has made chocolate macaroons, there usually won’t be anymore after seven minutes.

Pirata

Pirata spent a good deal of her early years being passed around from pirate to pirate. The illegitimate child of the legendary Pink Sparrow, the first three years of her toddler and babyhood were the worst in her life.

She, along with Capitano, lived with Inky for two years until Pirata went to study with Professor Peppa at the age of five. As such, she has always looked up to both Inky and Peppa. Though she wouldn’t realize it until she was an adult, seeing both women, so different in their choices in life but still thriving, helped shape her personality and self-image.

She has a temper. It was especially bad when she was a toddler, and Inky faced the worst of it. Her early childhood before Inky was horrible, and so she used aggression as a means of coping. It got to the point where she beat Pepe the Meddler during her first pirate meeting (not that Murana, or anyone else, minded). She has calmed down significantly, mostly thanks to Professor Peppa, but she has still retained her sass and is not afraid to get her hands dirty if she needs to.

Jellybeans are her absolute favourite, and there is always a glass jar of them in the kitchen.

She is extremely impulsive. Her first attempts at helping Capitano overcome his fear of water didn’t work as a result of her not stopping to consider Capitano’s feelings. She has gotten a lot better.

Pirata is a bookworm. Ever since Inky taught her to read, she is often seen trying to decipher the pages of something. Books, old articles, maps, Inky’s menus, even the seaplane flight manual (not that she wants to set foot in it anymore than she has to . . . ). 

Initially, she had a slightly positive relationship with Murana when she was younger, before she became a pirate. Murana was decent enough to her, even giving her advice in her own way. It wasn’t until Murana lost her brother and Pirata began receiving accolades that their cordiality soured.

Pirata is an excellent dancer. She’s been trying to teach Roberto a few things whenever Weboo plays his harmonica.

Though she doesn’t say it out loud, Pirata loves riding on Weboo’s head.

Probably some of the most ordinary headcanons, but they were a lot of fun to create, so no regrets!

[noisyquokka]

Banshees In The Night

PAIRING - Felix x Jisung x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Haunted houses can be quite the hoot... if you know what you're getting yourself into...

WORDCOUNT - 4.2k

WARNINGS - Established friend-group, a bit of rural exploration, Mild Language, Humor, Mentions of insects/untidy surroundings, Mentions of murder (for the lore of the "haunted" location), no one comes prepared || Let me know if I've missed any warnings!

A/N - Spooky season is upon us and I'm so excited to write some horror and October-themed fics! This one was a first attempt at more descriptive writing and for my first time, I'm pretty proud. And the edit was a little last minute thing I did. Dunno why I did it, but it was fun!! Let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always appreciated!

"Nope! No fucking way!"

"Oh, c'mon." Felix rolls his eyes, pointing at the laptop screen. "Look, it says here the property is fenced in and secure. No big deal!"

You crane your neck so far that you look like a heron fishing on the bay. Jisung snickers beside you, taking a swig of his energy drink. No big deal, he says...

It was just a few days ago when the three of you were talking about exploring a supposed haunted house on Halloween night. You had agreed to this as a joke, but knowing these two, you should've seen this coming. It wasn't a surprise to you when Felix had called earlier, asking if you and Jisung were home and brought himself over. Turns out he'd been doing some research on the haunted locales around town and, much to your dismay, was now trying to persuade you into a night of absolutely no rest at one of the "most haunted houses in the area". You aren't having it.

"You do realize that Halloween is the worst time to do this?" You say, pacing around the living room. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the boys share a glance. They know where this is going. Jisung takes a breath and leans forward, snatching your laptop off the coffee table.

"I seriously see nothing wrong with this..." Felix mutters, resting his forearms on the back of the couch as Jisung moves the cursor across the screen, tapping on the album of photos that's attached to the article with curious eyes. "It's just an old, abandoned house. No one lives there."

The first photo pops up, an older one taken circa 1934. Back then, the farmhouse stood in the midst of the prairie fields, newly erected, the original owners standing before it with pride. It had belonged to a family of six; husband and wife standing at the top of the wrap-around porch while their four children stand on the descending steps. Oldest to youngest, it seemed, their clothes wrinkled from probable horsing about prior to this photo being taken. The farmhouse itself was classic and elegant in design, with its whitewashed clapboard of the time framing the tall, single-sashed windows. The pine bannister lines the edge of the porch until it wrapped out of sight.

"You can't be serious." You mutter, shaking your head as you watch Jisung flip through the album. The house erodes away with every single picture, the hairs on your arms standing at attention. You catch the quirk of Jisung's lips as you turn away.

"What if we spent the entire night?"

He's joking, you can tell just by the tone of his voice, and soon after, he's chuckling. But Felix's eyes widen with a rare excitement. He claps his hands together, reeling back from the sofa and pointing an index finger at his friend.

"That is a great idea!"

"NO, FELIX!"

You're glaring before he's even looking at you. There's a crazy glint in those eyes, something like adrenaline that rushes his veins at the thought of a whole night at such a location. These boys would be the death of you...

"Halloween is the time of year when the v-"

"The veil between worlds is at its thinnest," Felix interrupts in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes, "I think you're watching way too many supernatural movies. None of it's real!"

You turn your head to him, shooting him a look that you're sure could cut if it physically manifested. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it was. You sure as hell didn't feel like being the one to find out. In fact, you would much rather spend your Halloween night right here at home, curled up with a blanket and a horror movie marathon.

You lick your lips, setting your gaze back on the computer screen. Felix paced around leisurely, listening as Jisung reads aloud the info on the house's history. Your ears pick up Jisung's voice, vowels that evolve into syllables until they craft into a whole story, but nothing computes.

"English decent...hard-working values... two of four children homeschooled.... ongoing Infedelity... wife took the hatchet from the barn.... murdered her husband... three of the kids... eldest daughter survived by escaping through the second story window... wife was never seen again..."

You stand there with a jittering foot, Jisung's voice fading in and out in a garbled buzz. The words slowly sink in, the air charged with tension. Your eyes drift back to the album. The youngest daughter's expression is unmistakable as she stares straight at the camera, her gaze cold and piercing as a dagger's point.

"Are you serious?" Felix stares at the photo with wide eyes, his lips parted in astonishment before he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, this house would be amazing to explore on Halloween, are you kidding!?"

You're still in shock. A lump in your throat. Your eyes locked on those pixels that stare back. Dead eyes. Your mind races.

Was it just a rumor? A ghost story spun by bored residents at the time?

Something tells you otherwise.

"Says here it's been vacant since 1998. The last family to live there did some renovations but reportedly left shortly after."

"You're joking, now." You shift your attention to your roommate sitting on the couch, tilting your head with a pointed look. Jisung's gaze finds your pinned pupils for a split second, only to go back to his scrolling without another word. "Tell me you're joking."

Felix's laugh actually triggers you, your fists clenching until your fingernails are leaving indents on your palms. He rounds the sofa to sit beside Jisung, eyes darting across the laptop screen.

"Come on, it'll be fun! Imagine what cool trinkets might be in that house."

"That fucking house has been vacant for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! Murder is bad enough, but to top it off, the last people renovated only to leave without selling it?" You turn to Jisung again, "Is that on the record? The last owners didn't sell it after reno?"

Jisung searches the paragraph again, double checking what he'd read.

"Yep, they bought it in 1991, made some renovations, but never sold it. They just left."

Felix groans in response, rolling his eyes as he leans into the elder boy's side to get a closer look. Jisung continues his scrolling through the website, searching for any other news stories on the property. Another Google search only returns regurgitated legends of the original family, all with different endings. More dead ends eventually lead to Jisung closing the tab and leaning back into the couch cushions.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't feel good about it, Lix. I'm out!"

"Are you serious? It's a fucking house and some old ghost stories."

"And I'm not about to fuck around at a murder sight on Halloween with you two imbeciles! I'll go literally anywhere else on Halloween night, a fucking party if you so insist."

"A party?" Felix scoffs, "That's boring and you know it. Don't you wanna have an adventurous Halloween?"

"I don't want to get haunted or arrested. You will not persuade me into following you along like a lost puppy to some haunted farmhouse!"

—

"I can't believe you talked me into this shit..."

You're stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, glancing around the dying overgrowth of the wooded area you three currently travel through. Despite everything you'd said two weeks ago, here you stand.

"It'll be fine. They say no one has been seen in or around the house for years! And besides, all those reports of paranormal activity were probably made up for the sake of scaring kids." Jisung says. The flashlight in his hand dips, the LEDs trailing off between tree trunks and the darkness of the woods, dancing from one spot to another as he follows behind Felix. The moon beams an eerie glow from high in the sky, most of the trees barren so late in October, casting shadows that twist and distort against the rustling leaves. It's full tonight, unfortunate for your anxious little mind. Your eyes are already playing tricks on you in the dark of night, shadows peeking their heads out from behind the earthen bark.

"Oh ho hoo, you didn't say that last week, bro!" Felix's voice echoes, looking down at his mobile device to keep the group on track. "That's even more perfect. We'll be the first to explore it in over two decades!" He's practically shaking with excitement, though you're completely numb at this point. And not from the October chill.

Your fingers twitch in their confines, your breath forming in puffs of ghostly clouds in the night. The trees loom over your head like guardians, gangly limbs reaching out to scrape and pull at your hair and hoodie. Others lean against their brethren, uprooted by the anger of storms, their battering of wind and rain. Still, some of them fight for survival, their strong roots piercing deeper into the Earth's soil. You press on through the foliage, the silence of the forest only broken by the muffled sound of your best friends' conversation fading.

"When all this is said and done, you're doing the dishes for two weeks." You say, glaring at Jisung's back.

"I feel like all that hostility in your voice is so uncalled for. I haven't done anything."

You chuckle bitterly, staggering over tree roots that breached the surface of the soil.

"You're right! You haven't made one objection to this stupid idea since Felix brought it up. And to top it off, all that research you did on my laptop? Yeah, I'm now the victim of true crime news stories from the early 1900s."

"Don't you clear your search history every night?" He asks.

"Don't you have your own laptop?" You counter, watching him slow his pace and huff. Part of you feels a little guilty for being so harsh. You know the boys love doing stupid shit; Halloween or otherwise. But after all was said and done, you just didn't feel good about this little trip. Felix turns back to you two, the light of his phone illuminating his face.

"Oh lighten up, Spitfire! For all we know the stories are a load of crap. We're already this far, right? No point in backtracking now. It'd be a shame not to check it out."

"The real shame is the classic horror movies I rented for us that are just sitting on the damn coffee table back home." You grumble, your eyes darting over your shoulder. Jisung snickers ahead, cooing at you.

"Awww, are you disappointed we aren't sitting on the couch, lights off, snuggled under a blanket together?" He teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Felix chuckles and keeps walking, looking down every few moments to the GPS on his phone. As you trek further, your spine tingles with electricity. The air in this heavily wooded area seems dead, the feeling of being watched growing like mold spores beneath the leaf litter. It's as if something is lurking just out of sight, just beyond the shadows.

"We've spent almost half an hour in these woods," Felix's words ring out in the darkness, and you realize in your moment of weakness, you'd stopped walking. "If you wanna give up and run home, that's your business. I wanna see this through."

Your feet move again, quickly catching up to your friends with heavy breaths. This place gives you the creeps and you haven't even gotten to the house yet.

"Besides, it's just a few minutes ahead. Look, there." Felix smiles as he points up ahead, the old farmhouse rising out of the dark ocean of those tall prairie grasses. Your eyes are drawn upwards to the thinning canopy of the trees above, mind racing with the possibilities of what you may encounter. And still, you follow behind the boys.

"Have you considered the idea that we might not be the only ones out here?" Your question is accompanied by a hollowness in your throat as you all wade through the overgrown field; invasive Johnson grass swaying with the wind.

"Jason Voorhees isn't gonna pop out and welcome us to the house, if that's what you're asking."

"Funny... I'm talking about real threats, Felix."

"Technically, Jason doesn't live in the woods..." Jisung says. Felix stops walking, turning his attention fully onto his friend.

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn't." Jisung replies, and now you've all stopped walking.

"Yes, he does."

"The guy spends half his slasher life slashing around a lake house!"

"At a summer camp in the woods!"

"Near a lake! Boom! Mic drop. I'll humbly take this win, thank you."

"You haven't won shit, it's in the wo-"

"Will the two of you please shut up!" You hiss, eyes darting around the open field. Your feet are shuffling beneath you, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. You look off to that creepy looking house, shaking your head. "It's too fucking quiet to be raising your voices out here, and frankly, I'm already pissing myself without the help of you two talking about some slasher in the woods!"

"Slasher in the woods, see." Felix gestures to you, shooting Jisung a grin. That's what he picked up from your little anxiety-ridden rant? He turns on his heels, the gravel drive just a little bit further. It snakes through the field like a serpent, winding its way up to the old farmhouse. Jisung starts walking ahead, but you don't miss the sound of him mocking Felix's snide remark. You sigh heavily, shaking your head and following close behind.

The gravel crunches under three sets of shoes, the pebbles shifting with every hurried step. You can see the entrance from here with the help of Jisung's light; the dark shadow of a door. You swear there's nothing keeping nature out. The windows are boarded up, the sheets of plywood slowly eaten away by termites and other wood borers over some time. It's bare bones, the exterior of the building left to rot and be reclaimed by the surrounding nature. Somewhere nearby, an owl claims the woodlands with its haunting song.

"That's it?" Felix's tone is drenched in disappointment. His eyes dart back and forth with the crappy light of his cell phone over the Tim Burton-esque husk.

"Why the fuck do you sound disappointed? This house is terrifying!" Your eyes scan the surrounding property, and something dawns on you. "There's also no signs of a secure fence anywhere, like it was stated in the article."

Felix shrugs, his phone's light scanning over your form. "Must've been an older article, then. But it doesn't look that bad."

It looks far larger than it did in the photos online, although you admit it's seen better days. You have yet to notice anything that looks different to the original photos, even if it is crumbling and peeling. Perhaps it was an interior renovation? Jisung's light washes over the building from the porch to the second-story windows, the rickety bannister casting shadows along the disintegrating clapboard. Your blood prickles at the realization that the door was indeed gone, phantom arms reaching out from the depths. It lays on the floor of the main hall, a victim of someone's full-bodied force. The air shifts, it seems. An oppressive static energy that stabs you in the lungs. You swallow, eyes drifting to Felix's shadow a few feet ahead.

"This feels like a terrible idea, Lix. Can we just please go back to mine and Jisung's place?" You're pleading now.

"Come on, it's just a house. There's nothing to be freaked out about," Felix calls from over his shoulder. He's already pressing onward, taking careful steps up the steep and rotting wood stairs of the porch like a sacrifice to the dark maw of this structure. "This is gonna be fun! Can't believe you're backing out after all the build-up."

You try to ignore the anxiety festering in your chest, your stomach. The smell of moisture from the tall grass surrounding you creeps up your nostrils. The place is making your skin crawl. You glance to Jisung, whose expression is a tad cautious now. His eyes dart to you, and in the light of the moon, you swear you can see some concern etching his face. He doesn't speak, just shakes his head and starts toward the entrance. You follow; two more sacrifices to appease whatever horrors lay dormant inside.

The porch groans with every step you and Jisung take, like the wooden boards were protesting you being here. He takes the lead and you aren't about to argue that one, pulling your phone out and turning the flash on with a twitching finger.

"Can't believe we're dumb enough to be walking into the live-action Monster House." You grumble, careful with your foot placement. You step over the door with Jisung's help, covering your nose with your hoodie sleeve.

"Hey, it's not that bad." Jisung says, scanning around for Felix. "We can't leave him here alone."

You scoff.

"One sign of a serial killer or a cult, and I'm sacrificing his Sunshine ass!"

Your fingers flex around your cell phone as you shine it down the main hall. The place looks like it's been ransacked, abandoned furniture turned on its side and litter piled up in corners, scattered across the floor with the help of the winds that seep through the old boards. To the right is the kitchen, simple and small. The cupboards are new, though considerably outdated in present day; old hickory covered in a thick layer of dust and peeled paint. You shine the light up to the weakened ceiling. The plaster has warped, bubbled, and sagged, brown blotches taking over a once pristine eggshell white. You don't like the black growth in the farthest corner where part of the ceiling has fallen, and you're telling Jisung to cover his face before he goes any further.

"Felix! Cover your mouth and hurry up, there's black mold in here!" You raise your voice slightly, but you don't get a response back. Jisung turns to you with a roll of his eyes.

"He's probably hiding somewhere to scare us." He says, heading down the hall. His light shines down the main hall, illuminating dust particles that have been roused with the help of the Aussie that's already exploring around somewhere.

There's a large web that sprawls over the eaten doorframe of the living room to the left, a large orb weaver sitting pretty in the middle of her silken cemetery. You blink at the many insect carcasses she'd captured, no need for further convincing that that room is off limits. You move forward, scanning the other rooms with little interest, but just enough to notice that a few of the house's back windows haven't been boarded up. Or perhaps the plywood has weathered away. The moon light shines through those windows, and you jump at the sight of a field mouse scuttering across the floor, squeaking at your intrusion.

You jump again at the thump of two feet on the landing of the stairs. A flash of cellular light and black boots. 

"There's nothing here," Felix says, glancing back through the rickety bannister to the shanty rooms. His light blinds you momentarily.

"You are an idiot!" You release the breath you're holding, glaring at the cracks in the wooden staircase. "Those stairs look about ready to give out under you, get down here!"

Felix rolls his eyes at your scolding, but does as he's told, skipping down the last few steps. He stops on the third one down, a chuckle leaving him.

"I'm telling you, whatever's in this house is just fake stories made up by bored locals. Now-"

Felix's words are interrupted by a loud crash that rattles your bones. Spikes your pulse. You both jump at the sudden noise, Felix almost drops his phone as he turns to look for the source of the sound. It echoes from the kitchen, something like the lid of a stainless steel pot ringing, reverberating over the wood as it dances on its rim. Your throat swallows itself, strangled by an all-encompassing fear. A phantom hand grips your left shoulder. You startle, reeling your elbow up and back.

"Easy, easy!" A familiar voice says, shadow ducking out of the way to save him an elbow to the throat, "It's just me!" Jisung. His voice hushed as his wide eyes glance toward the exit. Toward the noise. You sigh in the slightest relief, because while all three of you have been accounted for, you now know that the noise is someone or something else entirely. The rim stops its dancing on a dime before anyone can speak, like a spinning coin that someone stops with the smack of a hand. All is quiet, only the sound of wind through rotting window frames and the shallowest breaths from three spooked youngins.

"What the hell was that?" Felix is the one to ask, and you're almost surprised to hear his voice shake in the back of his throat. Jisung shakes his head behind you, a small frown creasing his brows. Brown eyes stick to the doorway, waiting for... fuck, you don't know what you're all waiting for.

"We need to lea-"

BANG!!

Something metallic flashes in your peripherals and you can't stop the shriek you let out, bringing a hand up to your mouth. The weapon of choice lays in the middle of the door; a pan lid that rolls around on its handle, a dull rattling on hollowed wood. You all stand still, each of you paralyzed with fear. The loud bang against the wall gives you enough of a jolt to break the silence.

"Now! We need to leave now!" You hiss. "And I'm not taking one step towards that door, so what is our game plan?"

"Finding another way out?" Jisung suggests, his eyes burning a hole through the kitchen's doorframe. Felix shakes his head.

"There's no other exit. All the windows are boarded up upstairs." He whispers.

"Are you serious?" You can't stop the shakiness in your tone, your nerves getting the better of you in this moment of weakness. Whatever the fuck is in that kitchen isn't happy to have guests, and your only way out is past that doorway? You may as well have dug your own graves.

Another flash of movement, something tiny thrown into the adjacent living room. The object vibrates the silk strings of the spider's web and its inhabitant jolts, unsure whether or not to stay in the relative safety of her space or to take shelter elsewhere.

The loud thumping noise returns, this time from upstairs... scratching, clawing, pounding. The floorboards creaking loudly as something large scrapes back and forth across the surface. They keep getting louder, whatever is in here is only getting angrier. Another sharp bang against the wooden walls.

"Fuck!"

"Run!" Felix yells, and he's already clambering down the last few stairs, bolting for the door. "Just run!"

Jisung grabs your hand before you can protest, and the both of you dash through the open maw of the house with pounding hearts and trembling fingers. You take the moisture-laden air into your lungs, squeezing your roommate's hand to ground yourself. Everything is fine. Jisung is doing the same, hunched over with his free hand on his knee.

"What the fuck was that?" Felix asks, shining his phone back towards the house. He's panting too, his confidence completely snuffed out by the weird shit he's just witnessed.

"I don't know, I didn't see anything." Jisung pants as he struggles to catch his breath. He turns to face you as the sound of something falling to the floor is heard from the living room.

"Do we go back in there?" Felix asks, wide eyes on the entrance to the house. The light from Jisung's flashlight cuts through the darkness in patches, moving with every swing of his arm.

"Are you seriously asking if we should go back in there?" Jisung asks. For the first time tonight, you're both on the same wavelength. How Felix could want to go back inside after all of that, you don't understand. Perhaps it's the shock? Or he's got a death wish.

You don't have the chance to consider the choices because your ears perk at the sound of what you could only describe as killer clown laughter, just inside the doorway. A grunt. Growling. More laughter. It leaves your spine ram-rod straight, the hairs on your body all standing on end.

Oh, fuck this!

Now that you're outside, you see no reason to stand here and twiddle your thumbs. You're gripping Jisung's hand like he's your lifeline and bolting for the trees. Back the way you all came. It seems Felix has finally come to his senses as well, breaking into a full sprint down the driveway as he screams for you two not to leave him behind. The house recedes quickly into the distance with no one even bothering to look back to see if you're being followed. All you know is that running for your life is better than death by hatchet or crazy killer clown cults. The three of you don't stop until you're back to the main road and in your car.

Beady eyes peak around the door frame as all three book it, a mask over those eyes to hide their identity. Another head pops out, and a third. All masked up and chittering away as they amble onto the porch, munching on junk food that had been left behind by other explorers. 

Raccoons. 

The furbearers climb down the steps one-by-one, almost cackling on their way as the trio of two-leggeds scream into the night.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!