#just creepy tree stuff

[strangelittlestories]

If you are to undertake this journey into the Fitful Lands, where the Dream encroaches onto this world, then beware the Subego Tree.

It is a pernicious creature, for it has not distinct shape or bark or pattern of leaf. It mimics whatever forest or glade it grows in. You can tell it from the others for it will offer the greatest shade, hold the most raindrops from your back, promise you the sweetest shelter.

You must learn to read these signs if you will travel close to the realm of Hypnos. That which has crawled from those territories will feel as real as anything Waking, for a party of your mind will always recognise it as familiar. As *known*.

This is the trick, you must learn to loosen your perceptions and listen when dreamlings whisper too loud that they are true.

You might also know the Tree by the dreams you have when you rest beneath it. But, of course, by then it will be too late. When you sleep under its boughs, your subconscious will spin stories that are ... not quite prophecies. They are paths you can walk. Journeys you could take. The shadow you could cast if only you grew into your best self.

You will wake feeling full of potential and possibility.

This is a tragic lie, for this is exactly what the Subego steals from you.

It plants its seeds like burrs in your mind. And as they begin to spread their psychic roots, they will reach out through probability for the direction with the most energy.

It is not just a cognito-hazard. It is a farivore. A devourer of destiny.

Left to its own devices, it will spread through the whole landscape of your psyche, replacing your strand in the web of fate with a bright green shoot.

You will find yourself thinking hubristic thoughts. You will make choices that sow narrative. You will be twisted into a lesson.

Somehow, your story will end with you walking alone into a quiet natural place. And whether it is a punishment, an escape or an ascension, you will become a tree.

And then, someday, another poor traveller will sleep beneath your branches.

If you catch this infection in time, however, there is a cure. Though it barely deserves the name.

You see, the seed is too aggressive and too tenacious. Wound all around the core of you, and the core of the you-that-will-be, if you tear it out then it will extend its thorns and rip your mind to shreds.

So the treatment is this: surgical psychic removal of the entire ego.

Luckily, the mind is complex and the mind is malleable. The sense of inner self the Tree has planted its seed in is an illusion. A composite of soul and needs and memory; a hodgepodge of living burning data stored in electricity, spirit and meat-chemistry.

But the seed believes this illusion. It relies on it.

So when you remove it, the seed will not even notice it has lost its prey.

Then all that's left is the harrowing work of rebuilding your identity, feeling like a stranger in the jagged cavern of body and soul that remains. Wondering if your destiny even still belongs to you.

Oh, and of course, you should probably also kill whatever grows out of the seed that is eating your old ego.

[krockat]

i've been wanting to commission someone to make a pfp for here, that uses the hat in my current one

cause rn it's fkn boring and beige and not very visually intrestin - and u can't even read the fkn text that makes it worth! (it's a pic of a yellow beige cap (the hat) w the text "ask me about my lobotomy" on it)

idea's to like make it pretty and faggy and me, and Also makes the text any at all readable lol.

but commissioning is hard! you gotta have like a fkn good proposal and have references, and know what you want and able to word that shit - and most often i just struggle w that.

but this time i have a concept (more than what i wrote) but like,,, i don't wanna be roughin it on an artist. i want to be a GOOD commissioner and until i got d girl't balls to do that i am gonna pass.

[ax3-e0ns]

I always find it both disapointing and interesting whenever this sorta thing comes up.

Because frankly, as a gen z with a gen alpha sibling I tend to think about it from a different angle. Especially since the millenials and gen z parents that said sibling are around actually are proactive with ensuring their kids aren't given blind continuous online use; and frankly considering the sorta stuff I saw online as a young kid, I say good for them.

Like friendly reminder for when I was in elementary to middleschool: I watched sonic the hedgehog inflation videos not realizing that I was watching fetish content. I binge watched a bunch of happy tree friends videos when I was too young to do so. I was one of those middle schoolers who shipped myself with multiple creepypasta characters. I watched Fred thinking he was the peak of comedy. I listened to both I'm a Gummy Bear and Crazy Frog repeatedly to an obnoxious degree. I remember staying up late at night watching Mullet Mike's Creepy Gaming series throughout middle school. I watched videos of people roleplaying as plushie versions of various characters.

The core of what Im getting at is: bare minimum Gen Z has no room to judge considering the kinda shit we were fully able to access whenever back in the day.

watching gen z and millennials make fun of gen alpha has been torturous. "But they're actually stupid" 1. theyre middle schoolers 2. isn't that what older gens said about us? don't you remember being 11?

it truly is just "impulse reaction to cringe <- has not yet unlearned shame"

the cycle continues let me out of here

guys. guys I think we should kill cringe culture

[kafkaesquefemme]

[headspace-hotel]

How to begin a sustainable way of life

This is a draft of something I've been writing for a couple months. It is mainly focused on the culture of the USA. Feel free to repost or otherwise share, with or without credit.

Do not tell people what to do—help them do it! 

Give the gift of relief from being forced to engage in society’s unsustainable ways of life. 

“People need to eat more plant-based foods.” ->Talk about your favorite recipes, give others recipes, cook for them, and grow vegetables and plants in your garden and give them away as gifts. 

“People need to repair their clothes.” -> Offer to repair others’ clothes, and teach people how to repair their clothes. 

“People need to buy less clothes.” -> Give them old clothes that you don’t want, help them repair their clothes

“People need to buy less plastic stuff.” -> Learn to make things that can serve the same purpose, such as baskets, and give them as gifts. Let people borrow things you own so they don’t have to buy their own. 

“People need to stop using leafblowers and other gas-guzzling machinery.” -> Offer to rake the leaves. You can use them as compost in your own garden. 

“People need to be more educated about nature.”-> Learn about nature yourself. Tell people about nature. Be open about your love of creatures such as snakes, spiders, and frogs. Do not show awareness that this could be strange. You are not obligated to quiet down your enthusiasm for creepy crawlies to demonstrate awareness that it is weird. Point out at every opportunity how these animals are beneficial. 

“People need to use cars less.” -> Offer rides to others whenever you must go somewhere. Whenever you are about to go to the store, ask your neighbor or your friend who lives along the way, “Is there anything you need from the store?” 

You cannot control others’ behaviors, but you can free them from being controlled. 

If you think to yourself, “But this would be so difficult to do!” ask yourself WHY? Why does your society coerce you into less sustainable ways of living, forcing you to consume excessively? After thinking about this, consider that it is less simple and easy than you thought to make more sustainable choices, so why would you judge others for not doing it? 

Do not act alone—act with others! 

Environmentally friendly behaviors that can be done alone, without collaborating with or consulting another person, are the least powerful of all. Whenever an “environmentally friendly” behavior is suggested, figure out “How can I give this as a gift?” or “How can I make this possible on the level of a whole community?” 

“Personal choices” do not work because every single person has to make them individually. If you are focused on making your own personal choice, you are not focused on others. If you are not focused on others, you are not helping them. If nobody is helping each other, most people won’t be able to make the “personal choice.”

You inherently share an ecosystem with your neighbors  

            Start with your neighbors, the people physically close to you. You live on the same patch of land, containing roots from the same plants and trees. You can speak to them face to face without traveling, which means you can easily bring them physical things without using resources to travel. 

            Always talk to your neighbors and be friendly with them. Offer them favors unprompted and tell them about how your garden is doing. Do not be afraid to be annoying—a slightly annoying neighbor who is helpful, kind, and can be relied upon for a variety of favors or in times of need is a necessary and inevitable part of a good community. If you make the effort to be present in somebody’s life, they will have to put up with you on some occasions, but that is just life. We cannot rely on each other if we do not put up with each other. 

Simply spending time with someone influences them for good 

Every hour you spend outside with your neighbor is an hour your neighbor doesn’t spend watching Fox News. Every hour you spend talking with someone and interacting with them in the real world, eating real food and enjoying your real surroundings, is an hour you don’t spend only hearing a curated picture of what reality is like from social media. 

            Isolation makes it easy for people to become indoctrinated into extremist beliefs. When someone spends more time alone, watching TV, Youtube, or scrolling social media, than they do with others, their concept of what other people are like and what the world is like comes more from social media than real life. TV and online media are meant to influence you in a specific way. Simply restricting the access these influences have to yourself and others is helpful. 

A garden is the source of many gifts 

If you grow a garden, you can give your neighbors and friends the gift of food, plants, and crafted objects. This is one of the foundational ways to form community. When you give food, you provide support to others. When you give plants, you are encouraging and teaching about gardening. It is even better when you give recipes cooked from things you grew, or items crafted from things you grew. You can also give the gift of knowledge of how to grow these plants, cook these recipes, or craft these objects. 

More on gift-giving

            Some people are uncomfortable with receiving items or services as gifts. They want to feel like they are giving something back, instead of having obligation to return the favor hanging over them. 

            It can help to ask a simple favor that can be easily fulfilled. People generally like the feeling of helping someone else. 

When you give someone a gift, it can help to say something like “Oh, I have too many of this thing to take care of/store/eat myself! Do you think you could take some?” This makes your neighbor feel like they are helping you. 

When allowing others to borrow items, you might not get them back. Don’t worry about that. It just means the item found a place where it was needed the most. You can ask about the item if you think it might have been forgotten, and this can create an opportunity for a second meeting. But don’t press. 

If the person you give to insists upon some form of payment, this is a good opportunity to negotiate a trade. 

Ask to be given compostable or recyclable things 

Ask your neighbor to save compostable scraps, biodegradable cardboard and paper products, and any other items that might be put to use. Use them in your own compost pile. Or, start a compost pile at the edge of the yard where you both can add to it. Remember that “wet” compost like vegetable and fruit bits needs to be mixed with twice as much of “dry” and “woody” compost like cardboard, leaves, small twigs, paper and wood bits. 

Use the front yard for gardening

Overcome the cultural norm that the front yard is only decorative. Use the front yard for gardening so you can be seen by others enjoying your garden, and others can witness the demonstration of the possibilities of land. In the front yard, anything you do intentionally with your land can be witnessed. It also makes you a visible presence in your community. 

Grow staple foods 

Don’t just grow vegetables that cannot be the core component of a meal themselves. Grow potatoes, dry beans, black eyed peas and other nourishing, calorie-dense foods. Grow the ingredients of meals. You could even build a garden around a recipe.

Invite neighbors and friends over to eat food made from things you grew 

Be sure to send them home with leftovers.  

Grow plants for baskets 

Containers are one of the fundamental human needs. If we had more containers, we wouldn’t need plastic so much. You can learn to make baskets, and to grow plants that provide the raw materials for baskets. 

If someone rakes their leaves, ask to have the leaves  

If you see someone putting leaves in bags, don’t be afraid to ask if you can have the leaves. More likely than not they will be happy to agree. 

Collaborate with neighbors to plant things in the no-man’s-land of the property line 

In the border land between your neighbor’s yard and your yard, it is almost always just mowed grass because no one can plant anything without it affecting their neighbor. But these border lands add up to a lot of space. It would be much better if you talked to your neighbor about what would be nice to plant there, and together created a plan for that space. 

Give others the freedom to wander 

Make it clear that you will not get mad if the neighbor’s kids play in your yard or run across it. Invite the neighbors onto your land as much as possible. Tell them they are allowed to spend time in a favored spot whenever they would like.  

The power of the hand-made sign 

If there is a yard sale, you always know about it because of the hand-drawn signs placed around. Therefore, a cookout or unwanted item exchange can be announced the same way. In rural areas I have seen hand-made signs that say: FIREWOOD or WE BUY GOATS or EGGS. This is one of the few technologies of community that remain in the USA. If someone who looks to buy and sell can put up a hand-made sign, why shouldn’t you?  

Religious people or people with strong political opinions like to put signs everywhere. If they have the confidence and courage to do so, why shouldn’t you? 

So if there is a message you would like everyone to see, use the simple power of the hand-made sign. Proclaim “BEE FRIENDLY ZONE!” above your pollinator garden with all the confidence of a religious fundamentalist billboard. Announce to the world, “VEGETABLES FREE TO ALL—JUST ASK!” “WE TAKE LEAVES—NO PESTICIDES.” Instead of YARD SALE, or perhaps in conjunction with YARD SALE, you can write, PLANT EXCHANGE or SEED SWAP or CLOTHING SWAP. Who can stop you? 

Someone has to do it for society to change  

Some of these ideas might be eccentric, strange, or even socially unacceptable, but there is no way to change what is normal except to move against it. Someone has to be weird. It might as well be you. 

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Mr. Scarletella:

Content: violence + stalking + voyerism + picture taking + masturbation + stealing + break of privacy + neutral reader + tampering with your food + noncon content + Stockholm syndrome. + mindbreak.

Summary: Human! Scarletella just wasn't able to stop himself from stalking falling in love with such an amazing person, God, he just loves stealing borrowing your stuff!

Note: So, I just had to write something about this amazing game, feel free to check it out and support the creator!!

SFW:

Yandere! Scarletella who fell in love since the first time he saw you around university, always being around those other guys... But he knew he just had to wait, yeah, wait for the right moment to approach you.

Yandere! Scarlatella who keeps randomly appearing on your classes from time to time. Oh, he isn't even in your course, but taking a few extra classes or even skipping some of his is no issue for him.

Yandere! Scarlatella who makes sure to get close enough so he can steal a few things from you while in class, sometimes it's your old pencil, other times he just takes whatever has touched your hand that class. That includes waiting until the university is closing to take your thrown away coffe cup (it still has your salive, so he has definitely kissed you, right?).

Yandere! Scarlatella who keeps on appearing on your daily life, you try to act as if the constant encounters are just mere coincidences, not like he even tried to strike up a conversation with you, so there must be no danger, right?

Yandere! Scarlatella who sometimes follows you back to your doorm. He always makes sure to walk quite far away from you trying to avoid freaking you out as he knows it would affect your daily routine.

Yandere! Scarlatella who climbs up the tree just to be able to catch a glimpse of your face while you're sleeping. You look so beautiful with your lips sligthly parted! ♡ You don't know it, but he has found a way of opening your window while you're sleeping. When he feels extra bold, he lets himself run his fingers through your soft lips feeling your warm breath is just enough to get him hot and bothered ♡.

Yandere! Scarlatella who begins to be feared by all your friends. They keep warning you about him, but it's not like you have any proof of what he's doing, such a shame :(( jk. He made sure to state his point, beating your poor friends to a pulp if he saw them getting a bit too close to you, he made sure to leave no visible marks, he doesn't want you worrying your pretty little head.

Yandere! Scarlatella who loses it after seeing that creepy long-haired guy far too close to you, if you wanted him to kidnap take you with him already you could've just said so dummy! Of course he wastes no time taking you from those filthy guys. You will be safe with him ♡.

Yandere! Scarlatella who breaks your poor mind after being trapped several months. Maybe being taken care of isn't so bad, right?

NSFW:

Yandere! Scarlatella who masturbates to your sleeping face, his tip being dangerously close to your lips. He can't stop imagining them surrounding his lenght...♡ He knows he has to keep patient but each day it becomes harder to act neutral.

Yandere! Scarlatella who takes photos of your clothed cunt for his collection. This collection includes many versions, from more tame ones (you smiling) to less... ethical ones (your sleeping face).

Yandere! Scarlatella who robs your underwear while you sleep. He just needs some... extra motivation. So he uses them, wrapping them around his cock as he keeps moving his hand up and down, making sure to stain your poor underwear with his sperm. He makes sure to clean them throughly before giving them back to you, although he sometimes wishes he could just cum inside the underwear you're currently using.

Yandere! Scarlatella who keeps on putting his own fluids on the stuff he feeds you. Most days he keeps it tame, deciding to introduce a bit of his salive on your food/drink, but when you behave extremely bad, he uses his cum, mixing it with your food together with some aphrodisiac, just enough to make you lose a bit of your sanity from not being able to masturbate.

Yandere! Scarlatella who keeps cameras all around his house so he can see you from different angles (all make you look like an angel ♡). He may or may not use those videos to masturbate, just maybe.

Yandere! Scarlatella who begins to use your mouth to release himself as a reward. You were just so eager to be touched! He just knew you were in love with him! It has definitely nothing to do with him being the only human contact for over six months! You let him use your mouth as he wants, forcing his cock into your throat, those sinful sounds filling his room as you try not to puke from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Yandere! Scarlatella who slowly begins to mark your whole body as his. He started by marking your face with his cum, moving on to your mouth and then to your beautiful chest, the next step was of course cumming all over your low abdomen.

Yandere! Scarlatella who refuses to cum inside of you. He keeps controlling himself by saying that he wants to make sure both of you truly love each other... that's... well. Let's just say that he is just another level of delusion, but don't worry, he would never give up on his sweet and precious darling ♡ !

[unconditionalcaretaker]

No one talks about how creepy Morrowind is. I don’t mean the plot lines, although a lot of those are quite dark too. But out of Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim, it’s the only one that has that eerie feeling you get in Super Mario 64 that has led to so many creepypastas.

There are big empty spaces and mazelike dungeons where the game feels lonesome and suffocating, in the sense that you might be trapped somewhere forever. The lack of a quest marker system, and the use of verbal directions that are easy to misunderstand, enhances this lost feeling. The dialogue system, which is mostly reading, leaves tone of voice open to interpretation (potentially hostile interpretation) and offers the feeling of searching for secret information as you click different options to unlock hidden sections of the dialogue tree. Characters are strangely beautiful, yet not high-res enough for their expressions and movements to actually match their voices, so you end up with characters attacking while looking fairly calm. The voices themselves are gravelly and menacing, with battle cries that sound unnatural and desperate and sometimes quite hateful. In ambient dialogue, NPCs don’t talk aloud cheerfully, they whisper inaudibly to themselves, mutter about having strange dreams or the feeling of being watched, and they cough with unsettling realism. And of course, there are frequent glitches. I remember standing on the Vivec rooftop once and doing weird stuff with levitation when the skybox suddenly disappeared, leaving me under a void. I just stood there for a long time, looking up, admiring the surreality of the whole thing. This is all compounded by the fact that glitches can corrupt a save file or cause a quest to stop functioning, so there’s a sense that this eeriness could have real, upsetting consequences for you as a player.

Idk, I just love this aspect of older games.

[nereidprinc3ss]

haunted

in which spencer reid takes you to a haunted house and you're being very brave about it... sort of.

fluff! warnings/tags: reader wears a skirt, reader is a scaredy cat!!, established relationship, kithing, my favs derek and penelope featured, haunted house stuff, talk about the physical composition of human eyeballs and mentions of harvesting them/eating them but it's not serious, FAKE very fake Halloween gore, I know those tags just escalated so quickly my bad, mention of a spooky clown, just haunted house stuff ok!! but its really not a scary fic I promise!!!! a/n: this is for my bff @gublersg1rl !!!! I hope u all like!!!!! Also yes the title was extremely creative I was feeling divinely inspired and revolutionary let’s not talk abt it

“Okay, no, no—maybe we don’t have to go in. I don’t think it’s gonna be that good.”

As you say it you’re wearily eyeing the crowd of screaming teenagers who are sprinting from the haunted house attraction’s exit, leaving a trail a swirling leaves and candy wrappers in their wake. Spencer laughs, gently hugging you back to him as you subconsciously begin to drift away from the line. 

“I knew this would happen.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“You’re scared. You want to chicken out.”

“I don’t,” you snap, stepping back and adjusting your sweater. “I’m just… I’m cold. I wanna go back to the car.” Spencer does some adjustments of his own, coming close and reaching around you as if going in for a hug but instead tugging your skirt down slightly in the back. You let him finish and then bat his hand away. “Would you stop that?”

“You said you were cold! I’m trying to help you.”

“By making my skirt one inch longer? That’s not going to help.”

He holds his hands up defensively. “Okay. Sorry. I won’t touch.”

Immediately your serrated edge is dulled and you lean against him, barely steering clear of a pout. “No, please. You’re warm. And you’ll protect me.”

He smiles down at you, cheeks and nose nipped sweet pink by the chilly breeze. His hair looks very nice today, his eyes are extra sparkly in the dark, and he’s framed by mostly bare tree branches scattered around the fairground—nothing more than dark palms clawing at the sky, a full white moon cradled in between black branches. The autumnal night is perhaps too cold for the tartan mini skirt you’d chosen, but Spencer told you it looked nice. Of course he doesn’t put up a fight when you slip your arms around his waist under his coat—only wraps his arms around you in return.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you. But between us Derek and Penelope will bear the brunt of the jump scares.”

“Who said my name?”

You look over your shoulder to where Penelope is shivering despite wearing her own and Derek’s coat, and Derek is eyeing the two of you, enjoying a bag of caramel corn like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer says, and you laugh to yourself, pulling him even closer like you’re trying to leech the warmth from his body. “Okay, you do have to face forward though. I don’t want you to trip.”

“No, Spencer!” You argue, but he’s already unlatching your arms from his middle and turning you in place. 

“You’re fine,” he chuckles, holding onto your hips. “I’m right here. Be brave.”

The line has begun to move forward again, and this time, it’s not stopping. Your heart pounds as at the behest of a teenaged bloody scarecrow you follow Derek and Penelope into the dark mouth of the red clapboard facade—a sort of farmhouse design that had seemed charming from afar and deeply sinister up close. Speakers play a loud creaking sound over spooky music and your eyes slowly adjust to reveal a foggy corridor lined with doors and creepy paintings.

As soon as the first evil little girl pops out of a doorway, you scream right along with Penelope. 

“Oh, my god,” Spencer laughs under his breath as you stop dead in your tracks, holding the group behind you up. When Penelope and Derek move on, you stay stuck, knowing that the threat has disappeared for the moment but still looms. Spencer gently ushers you forward. “Stay close behind Penelope, and it won’t be as scary. Come on, we have to keep going.”

“I hate this so much.”

But he ignores your comment, guiding you forward down the shadowy hallway and whispering the beginnings of a tangent over your shoulder. 

“You know, the first haunted house attraction was in London in 1915 at a fairground just like this. They picked up in America during the Great Depression as an attempt to distract young hooligans from resorting to property damage for fun.”

“Hooligans?” You mutter, teasing him even while terrified, carefully eyes the suspicious staircase leading up to a fenced in landing, shrouded in darkness. “We’re not going up there, are we?”

Just then a man with a sack over his head and bloody axe emerges from the black, launching himself down the stairs. Again, you scream, this time sprinting out of Spencer’s hold and through a cobweb veil into the next room. 

“Jesus fuck!” You gasp, clutching your chest as someone made up to be a sweet old grandma gone mad and soaked in blood and viscera turns around to greet you with a manic grin. 

“Oh, a pretty girl! Is that you, dear? My long lost granddaughter? Or did I put her in a pie?”

The acting is subpar at best, the script even worse, but what really discomforts you are the bloodied rubber limbs swinging from the ceiling and the fog machine in the corner that keeps burping out thick white clouds with a little hiss. You turn around, running directly into Spencer’s chest. He catches you by the waist and you cling to him, digging your feet in to try and stop either of you from proceeding any closer to your new friend. 

“And your lover—so handsome! Mm, what a delicious pairing you two’ll make! Maybe in my specialty cream of eyeball soup?”

She cackles. Spencer pushes you carefully forward as you peer over his lapel, and he actually stops to look into the woman’s pot as she stirs it. 

“Spencer—”

“You know—the human eyeball is by all accounts difficult to harvest without essentially popping the outer wall of muscle and connective tissue and then you’re losing the structure of the sphere—and stop me if you know this—but water constitutes about 98 percent of vitreous and aqueous humor which in turn make up eighty percent of the total volume of the eye so to say your soup would be cream of eyeball is—”

“Buddy, you’re holding up the line!” Someone shouts from behind, and Spencer offers an awkward apology to the grandma who was beginning to look more and more uncomfortable, hurrying you along through the kitchen from hell. 

“I cannot believe you just did that,” you hiss, still clinging to him. “That poor woman probably thinks you’re a serial killer now.”

“I was trying to humanize her for your benefit—”

Another scream from someone else, another cheap jump scare, cuts him off, and by this point you have your eyes squeezed shut, squeaking at every noise, and Spencer is damn near carrying you through the haunted house, walking you awkwardly backward through the various rooms. 

He cradles the back of your head and presses his lips to your ear as a chainsaw revs somewhere nearby and you hear Derek and Penelope yelping just ahead. “You’re being so brave,” Spencer murmurs, though you don’t miss the smile in his voice. "If I was a malevolent spectre I would definitely steer clear of you. I'd be too intimidated."

“Shut up. Ah!”

“Baby, that was a plant. You know the actors can’t touch you, right? You’re not in any danger.”

“I don’t like being scared, Spencer.”

“Then why did you suggest the haunted house? I said we should do the maze.”

“I don’t know! I—” another man popping out of the wall, another roar that you only hear, sequestered safely against your boyfriend’s coat. “Oh my god, are we almost done? I can’t do this anymore.”

“Yeah, the entrance is right ahead. No more actors, okay? I can see the whole room, it’s totally empty.”

“I bet that's what they want you to think, they lull you into a false sense of security and then—”

Cold air kisses the back of your legs as Spencer walks you toward the door, and the stifled soundscape widens again as you exit the house breathing air that doesn’t smell like sawdust and fog machine juice and fake blood. 

“Nope. We're really all done, see?”

“You survived! Oh my god, I survived!” Penelope calls, and you lift your head from Spencer’s chest, looking up at him. He’s grinning, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“You honestly handled that better than I thought you would. I actually think I saw the guy dressed as a clown jump when you screamed.”

“If I ever say I wanna do something scary again please don’t listen to me. I hated that so much.”

He examines your face for a moment before determining that despite your rattled nerves, you’ll be okay, and comforts you with a quick peck. “Do you wanna go get caramel apples now?”

“Yes, please. And then can we do the maze, and just like—I don’t know, sit there and… meditate for a little while?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Just… don’t think about what could be lurking in the corn.”

You give him a little shove. “You know, I only did that haunted house thing because I know how much you love Halloween. I’m being a good girlfriend and what do I get?”

He pulls you close again and kisses your hand. 

“You get a caramel apple,” he says, like it’s obvious, and more than that—worth every trouble in the world. “Come on.”

You give him a begrudging smile and allow him to lead you, hand in hand. Maybe it is. 

[sailorsoons]

Break (h.js)

PAIRING: Witch!Joshua x Cursed!Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve suffered your entire life after a single magical accident when you were thirteen. Joshua has been your biggest comfort and anchor, but he also becomes your deepest regret. 

WC: 18,176

AU: Magic/Witches, Modern Fantasy

GENRE: Friends to Lovers, Doomed Lovers, Heavy Angst, Smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, Joshua and other members sometimes try to solve things on behalf of reader and she finds it frustrating (this is discussed), explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, not explicit dom/sub dynamics at all but Joshua is definitely in charge, subspace/blacking out post sex, heavy angst ending - reader and Joshua are some vengeful bitches - I would say this is probably an unhappy ending in a sense of the problem isn’t resolved (that we know of) and the ending is a bit ambiguous. 

A/N: This was a fic I originally had on my BTS blog (of the same name), but I have edited for Joshua because idk he just fit the vibes. I assure you, I did more than just flip names in this. I sat down and edited this quite a bit - you’ll be able to tell the parts that are like.. My old style of writing vs. where you see new stuff because my tone/cadencs are totally different, but hopefully it works :) 

MASTERLIST | ASK | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ▷NOW PLAYING: HAUNTING BY HALSEY

JOSHUA IS GOOD AT HOLDING GRUDGES. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Blood witches are dangerous. Joshua knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Joshua is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will. 

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Joshua gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane. 

They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Joshua knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call. 

He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do. 

“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Joshua can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.” 

Joshua blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut. 

If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins. 

A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Joshua has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears. 

Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Joshua steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice. 

So he asks the blood witch for a favor. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

-

When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces. 

You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing children into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all. 

So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.

Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed. 

Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech. 

Leech. 

It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world. 

Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really. 

Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old. 

It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy. 

Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often. 

Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort. 

It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house. 

You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.

She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night. 

The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you. 

Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.

Except maybe Joshua. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you. 

That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.

Your small town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch. 

It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowls. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you. 

A few people have taken pity on you outside of Joshua. Seungcheol and Jeonghan would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Jihoon is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Joshua is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies. 

It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Wicked Sweet Bakery, and Chan looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified. 

Joshua is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheeks and brows as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.

You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you’re the next best thing, grabbing an apron from the rack to attempt to help the stressed out witches behind the counter. 

“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “You’re an angel.”

“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage before he’s leaning over Chan’s shoulder to correct something on the register.  

There’s a smooth cadence to helping around the store. You fall into a pattern, calling out order numbers and passing over boxes of charmed sweets. The customers don’t know they’re charmed - at least not the people outside the magical community. They come here for the famous rose scones that inspire love and the lemon tarts that generate good luck, but they don’t realize how much of himself Joshua really pours into these sweets, magic and all. 

Being here is nice. Chan grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.

Chan is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back. 

“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously. “I wanted to do it. You can’t yell at me. I’m your favorite.”

That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Chan gives you a wicked smile, his little ego sharp and wicked under his sweet surface. You let him off with an eye roll and a squeeze of his wrist, making him beam. 

This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Joshua and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.

Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Joshua’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year. 

But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. 

When the rush of customers and shouting orders over the glass dies down, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Joshua has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. 

“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Chan comments, eyes bouncing between you and Joshua as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”

“She’s a witch,” Joshua snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.” 

“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”

You don’t meet Joshua’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I know you’re jealous, Chan,” is Joshua’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Are you hoping those butterscotch cookies win her over?”

Thunder cracks in the sky as Chan goes red in the voice, launching into an argument with Joshua who starts laughing like a maniac.  

When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Joshua goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Chan, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm. 

Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays used to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others. 

Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to communicate through, but it's something. It’s yours. 

Instead of asking, you follow Joshua and Chan out of the door on the promise of dinner. This is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Joshua’s dining room table and elbowing with Soonyoung or Mingyu for scraps of food piled high in the center of the table. 

Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Joshua and Chan. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Joshua throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Seungkwan. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm. 

His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you. 

“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Joshua’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”

You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”

Dancing away from him, you grab Chan who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Joshua. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Joshua grabs for you but you squeak and use Chan’s broad body to block him again. 

“Yah!” Joshua yells, reaching both arms around either side of Chan to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Chan - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back. 

“Aish!” Chan howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!” 

“Tell me why you have a wound!”

“It isn’t a wound!”

“It’s a type of wound!”

“Ugh let my arm go, hulk! What are you doing at the gym? Juicing? Jesus Christ!”

“Stop hissing at me like a rat! Are you trying to bite me?”

Chan drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!” 

After a struggle, you manage to shake Joshua off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Joshua sidesteps Chan who is pouting and looking at the ground, blonde bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Joshua makes it worse by stepping on them with a crunch, earning a shriek from Chan that goes ignored.

“Did someone hurt you?”

A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Joshua’s anger quickly. 

Similar to Chan, Joshua is sensitive to the elements. Where Chan has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Joshua has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Joshua is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town. 

It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry. 

“It’s nothing, Joshua,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”

“Someone hurt you. Again.”

Thunder echoes across the sky. Chan looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips. And about being oggled at by Mrs. Hansen again, she really wants my goodies.”

“Shua, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”

“I’ll make it do more than rain when I find out who did it.”

“They were just kids, Shua. You can’t-”

He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small. 

Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled and-

Above, the thunder stops. Rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Joshua, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare, but every time you witness it, it’s like watching a sudden storm bloom on the horizon, all terrible wind and teeth, but beautiful in its power. 

Chan is murmuring in Joshua’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Joshua’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Chan’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Joshua’s eyes find yours over Chan’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of warm brown, and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Chan, who steps away.

Licking his lips, Joshua offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.” 

You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”

“You know I would never hurt you?”

Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Joshua or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals. You are afraid that one day he’ll decide you’re not enough. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he’s this close, his voice pitched low, soft eyes only for you. 

“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you toward him. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”

His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic. You pull your hand from his quickly, not trusting yourself to touch him. You’ll never make that mistake again - especially with him. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

-

Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Joshua’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room packed tight with chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Joshua’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Jihoon’s maine coon chases it, hissing. 

Home is the handful of witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Seungcheol collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic. 

Bloated and overly-satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Jihoon is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jeonghan and Seungcheol have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Seungcheol’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Joshua is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Junhui. 

Joshua is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz. 

In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Joshua’s lingering gaze and hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you. 

It’s a silly dream. 

When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Joshua leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety. 

Joshua chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red liquid arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass. Joshua had taken you to that winery because he wanted to research wine making in general, considering creating and packing his own. He eventually tossed the idea out, wanting to focus on expanding his sweets menu instead. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip out of your own cup. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take another sip, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven. 

Instead, Joshua says, “You know I���ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”

“Joshua.”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with you. Never has been. There is nothing to fix. But I know you don’t share that same opinion, and I know that if you could change things, you would.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Jihoon and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it. 

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Joshua murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”

Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.” 

“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift. I am, afterall, a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes. “A gentleman who lacks humility.”

“Ah, but my hubris seems so small whenever Seungcheol is around.” 

You don’t push the argument. Joshua grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort. 

Joshua holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.

“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need this.”

“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”

“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.” 

“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”

“I know.”

You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you. 

“I am a fully functioning adult who is capable of taking care of myself, despite being a thorn in the covenstead’s side.”

“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”

You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it, and not just when you feel the desire to give it to me.” 

Joshua is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold. 

“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.”

That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old. 

-

The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Jihoon sticks his head out of his office. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He gives a visible sigh of relief when he sees it’s you and not one of his shithead coven mates coming to bother him for free stuff.

“Hey,” he greets, exiting the office. His familiar, Nami, shoots between his legs and toward the front of the store. 

Jihoon leads you through the door to the main storefront. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. Rows and rows of dark shelving littered with candles and wax light the way here. There’s no traditional lighting, floating candles up in the ceiling and random balls of light appearing every once in a while.

When you asked Jihoon how the non-magical customers didn’t think the magic was real, he simply said, That Harry Potter lady did me a solid. They all think it’s some sort of intricate system. 

Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning. 

Wordlessly, Jihoon gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything like everyone else in his coven. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.

Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that the moment they cross the threshold, they’ll consume the entire store like gluttonous demons.

It isn’t true. Well. Not really, anyway. You feel the magic in the store throbbing like a wound in your side, begging you to reach out and touch it, to pull it in, to use, to burn it. You ignore it. You’re not here to eat magic like a parasite. 

As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Joshua’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where. 

Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. You’re sure they know, though. Everyone has whispered about the way you killed your sister in her sleep. A little murderer. You’d only escaped persecution for being a child, and because up until that fateful night, you’d never been a siphoner. 

It helped that your family had been respected. 

You pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. They call to you, sing to you, press kisses that promise power on your brow, their fingers turning to claws and-

“Stop,” you growl out loud. The grimoire stops calling to you immediately, silenced by the violence in your voice. 

Shaking off the encounter, you grab what you need from the shelves, ignoring the way other magical objects feel like they're looking at you, wanting to be picked up, to be touched, to be used. You shove away all acknowledgement of them, arms full of materials. 

At the register, Jihoon gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Jihoon, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.

Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”

His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. I just pretend not to be nice. Plus, I have a magical tie to this shop, I can feel the energy shift. Everytime you’re here, it’s like suddenly the entire store has it’s eyes on you.”

“Great,” you growl. “Yes, it happens often. I don’t know if it’s a siphoner thing or a me thing. Most magic begs me to use it, but magical objects are worse. They’re borderline sentient.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”

“Stronger magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Joshua explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. He doesn’t take it until you give him a pointed stare. Plucking it from your fingers, he sighs and says, “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Seungcheol found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”

“A chain spell,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Joshua had been doing some research on magical blocks, and found one that determines whether the point of origin is internal or external.” 

“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”

“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?” 

Jihoon phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.

Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to perform one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry. 

The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead. 

“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Jihoon’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child? And how? A hex is easy enough to manage, but a full on curse?”

“People were really afraid of my parents,” you murmur. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I forget you’re not from here, but yeah. My family led the covenstead until… well. All that happened.”

“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”

There is a question there. Jihoon won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “My parents killed themselves when my sister died. No one talks about it because… wel, would you?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“Your parents have any enemies prior to that?”

“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”

Jihoon’s face darkens. “I see.”

“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”

For a few moments, Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.

“Well,” Jihoon sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”

You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless. 

Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all. 

Curse. 

The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind. 

The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother�� - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practiced dark magic.

Especially the few blood witches. 

You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess. 

They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil. 

Jihoon’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll. 

And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling. 

An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic. 

You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Jihoon and Chan and Joshua. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra. 

Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block. 

It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did. 

That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault. 

And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment. 

Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

Joshua picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Jihoon forget to let you in the store?”

“No.”

“I’m coming now,” Joshua says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”

“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”

“For you? Anything.”

Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt. 

It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry. 

Magic always belies how Joshua feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest. 

Joshua is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far. 

He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Joshua leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, folding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, letting you use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears. 

This is what you love about Joshua though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits. 

When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Joshua and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Joshua is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, pretty lips that are always the perfect shade of pink, curved upward in a permanent smile at the edges. 

Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core. 

“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.” 

Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Joshua over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology. 

As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you. 

Joshua is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.

The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…

Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure. 

You look at Joshua. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to. 

“I talked to Jihoon about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Joshua nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”

Understanding paints Joshua’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”

“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”

“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Joshua nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.” 

He nods. “That is true.” 

“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”

“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.” 

“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Shua, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”

For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.

“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Joshua’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.” 

For a moment, you pause and look at Joshua. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand. 

“I’m still listening.” 

“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”

He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”

“Yes I did.”

“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Joshua’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. Why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.” 

“How can anyone accept me like this?”

“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.” 

“But why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Joshua admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay? 

“What if the others don’t want me?” 

“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.” 

You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle all alone?”

“I would walk through fire for you.”

You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Joshua. That’s not impressive.”

His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”

Joshua overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy. 

Gently, Joshua reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different. 

“You have no idea what you mean to me.”

When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Joshua. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning. 

“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.

He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “You really have no idea, huh? You’ve got that massive brain up there and you don’t even use it right.”

“I don’t…”

“You’re right, we should be practicing honesty. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. As soon as you cast in a circle with me, you’ll see everything about me, and you deserve to not be caught off guard about what you see there.”

Your heart throbs. “What would I see, Joshua?” 

“Someone who would not only walk through fire for you, but who would burn the world down for you. I seem so nice and kind, but beneath the surface, there is a heart capable of terrible things for those I love. And I do love you. Chaotically so. Painfully so. Dangerously so.” 

“I-”

“You don’t have to love me back. I’ll never hold you to it. I just need you to know what you’ll see when we link and-”

You interrupt his rambling with a kiss. It’s brief and so quick it’s barely there. You lean away from him, heart pounding, lips parted. You’re surprised at yourself, unsure when you gained the confidence to pull a move on him. 

Joshua moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. His mouth is like fire, consuming and warm and sparking with heat. You feel the static shift between the two of you, his magic crackling to life as he makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. 

The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous. Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound again, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him. 

Joshua’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating. You grind your hips down again, rewarded with a whine. 

He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and he digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what.”

Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.

“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth. 

“Enough,” he hisses.

The world spins. Joshua grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.

He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit.

“You’re gonna be.”

A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.

You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head.

Joshua is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.

Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs. 

It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time. 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.” 

Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts. 

Joshua kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.

Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”

You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound. 

“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”

Fuck. Fuck. 

You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Joshua’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.

Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Joshua has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.

One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper. 

“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”

He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”

“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”

His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your chest. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your kiss-bitten chest. “I did say that, huh?”

“Yes, so gimme.” 

“Anything For you.”

Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Joshua but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Joshua has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.

When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”

“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”

“And grinding,” you add.

“Yeah, l remember, you little vixen.” You moan, lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.” 

This time, Joshua doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.

“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”

Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp. 

As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Joshua is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attaching his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.

Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth. 

You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Joshua plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis. 

He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly. 

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”

You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Joshua’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat. 

“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Shua.”

“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”

If you’re gonna take me.

The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably. 

When Joshua introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves. 

It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Joshua buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting. 

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck.”

“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.” 

And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless. 

Joshua retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs. 

Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is. 

With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Joshua tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting him. 

“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it.

You hum. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

Joshua tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.

You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly. 

Joshua is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?

No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.

“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”

Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Joshua groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way. 

The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”

“It’s all those charmed cinnabons you feed me.”

He laughs loudly at that. Joshua’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.” 

The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.

“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”

“Yes, please.”

Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Joshua’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.

Joshua is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy. 

An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Joshua grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets. 

Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.

For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches. 

You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Joshua that you taste static in the air. 

It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Joshua’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless. 

Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Joshua is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.

A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.

“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think you blacked out.”

“I- what?” 

“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”

“A magical orgasm.”

He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”

“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely. 

It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”

“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”

“My big day?”

Joshua grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, I just fucked you until you blacked out, and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”

Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.

It hasn’t happened yet. And as Joshua leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back. 

Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Joshua and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.

-

“Oh for the love of the land,” Jihoon groans when you appear in the basement of Joshua’s home. “Look at the two of you.”

Everyone swivels to look at you and Joshua, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.

You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Joshua’s coven members. But Joshua holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.

Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Joshua let them know that he and his members would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.

It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.

Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Joshua’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Jihoon’s deep shadows and Seungcheol’s vibrant green, taste Jeonghan’s clean water and feel Junhui’s pure air. Minghao and Joshua are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Chan’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.

It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. All of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.

The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Jihoon and Junhui. Jihoon’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Junhui’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.

Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Seungcheol will handle with Jeonghan. Seungcheol has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jeonghan’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity. 

It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Minghao and Chan conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.

And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause. 

But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it’s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.

Coven members already, really. 

All of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Jihoon has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Joshua. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Jihoon is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”

Jihoon is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Joshua can move freer and have more control.

“Jihoon is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Joshua murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.” 

“Which is often,” Jihoon mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze. 

“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”

Joshua puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.

“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Seungcheol is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”

“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”

“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck,” Joshua whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.

Now, you’re with Joshua, with Jihoon at the head of the circle. Jihoon doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”

You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Jihoon’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Junhui, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”

You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Jihoon and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.

Jihoon looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers. 

A little spike of fear goes through you as Junhui begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.

Jihoon’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Joshua, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”

Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-

A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Joshua’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.

Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Jihoon, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something. 

The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.

Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Junhui is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.

With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Seungcheol warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it. 

Jihoon’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Jihoon. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. 

Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Jihoon’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses. 

Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of. 

Little hut, little hut.

One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods. 

It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Jihoon’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.

Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did. 

This is something that happened to you, Joshua had said.

And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child. 

Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.

You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite. 

Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Dully, you are aware that Joshua is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Joshua at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Joshua is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him. 

His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate. 

Little hut, little hut

I call to thee

Little hut, little hut

Come to me

The Joshua in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Joshua but not quite. Not as mature. 

Young Joshua doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Joshua somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.

She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Joshua, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.

The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers. 

As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But she isn’t real and she fades as Junhui’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Joshua kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.

Joshua looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Seungcheol opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Minghao and Chan to weave the new ritual into the circle. 

Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Joshua yells but you’re fast, surging between Seungcheol and Jeonghan where the door exists. Seungcheol’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Close it and close the circle,” you pant. 

“I-”

“Close the fucking circle!”

All eyes turn to you. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Seungcheol recloses the circle and turns to Jihoon. 

Slowly, Jihoon begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Jihoon to Chan to Minghao to Jeonghan. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat. 

Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Joshua’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister. 

The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Joshua’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate. 

Finally, they finish the circle. Joshua rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him. 

“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Joshua, did you curse someone?”

“I… what does that have to do with-”

“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.” 

Three things happen then. The first is Joshua’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shakes his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.

“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Jihoon takes a step toward Joshua and he holds out a hand, warding Jihoon off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.” 

“You cursed someone?” Minghao hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”

“Shut up, Minghao,” Joshua snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.” 

“Did you give a name? What did you say?” 

“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”

“So you cursed them based on a memory?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

“Joshua.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”

A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Joshua and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist. 

When Joshua says nothing, it means everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow. 

“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”

“I…” Joshua shakes his head but can’t make the words come out. 

There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.

You turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started. 

Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?

Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Joshua’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone. 

Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.

The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Joshua’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other. 

A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible. 

You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness. 

A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.

Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark. 

You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk. 

You clench your fists. 

Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Joshua’s book.

“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.” 

TAG LIST:

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched @eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy @gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries @archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersonaa @beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen @mingumis @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp @eunyi @smiileflower @gyuhao365 @thefrozeneternity @heechwe

[jheselbraum]

Like did Link have regrets and probably some buried resentment for Zelda due to associating her with the events of oot, if mm and tp are anything to go by? Yeah. But let's not pretend that adult timeline Zelda didn't help Mr Kid in an Adult's Body Getting Brothel Jokes Made at Him dodge a fucking bullet. And child timeline Zelda's plan only fell apart because Rauru is an idiot.

You know what's worse than seeing some dudebro blaming OOT Zelda for "ruining Link's life"?

A "Zelink shipper" saying the same thing.

It's like being stabbed in the back lmao

I think not everyone understands her character:(

[pha55ed]

Winter Wonderland || F1/F2

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul, pepe

summary :: decorating your home together for the holiday season with the drivers

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

Very vintage, and rich looking

It's a true money style of richness, with a big ass tree filled with presents underneath it

There's even ribbons on all the gifts

Why? Because his mom and other family members are so rich and retired that they're fucking bored and added it

Most likely you live with him and he just reuses the same ornaments and stuff from last year

But you don't care, it's so pretty

But!!!! You two get a little custom ornament that's really cute

Probably your anniversary date or smth on it

Charles Leclerc | 16

A nice rich Christmas too, but more sleek and modern-ish

He loved decorating as a kid with his siblings but now that he has his own tree??? Man that's so much work

He'll let you take care of the tree and most of the decor, but he doesn't just sit on his ass

He'll help pick the items, theme, etc

And also help put up the heavy duty stuff, like lights around the house and stuff

But putting each and every flower into the reefs??? Oh noooo he's suddenly so soreeee nooooo

After like 10 ornaments, he's suddenly complaining and saying "my physical therapist told me it's bad to do repetitive motions"

He's a liar but you don't even care, cause he bought everything for you

And he'll give you constant praise in person and online for your decorating skills

Lando Norris | 04

Frat boy party vibes but honestly,,, I fuck with it

Tons of colors, lights, and it's so fun to look at

Loves decorating with you and making it very chaotic

And also very ghetto...

This man doesn't even use staples or tape to hold up the lights on the wall

Why? Because he couldn't find any and didn't wanna go out to get them

So now your lights are being held up by wood glue... or your eyelash glue that he stole... or any random sticky substance...

No he doesn't use old condoms, don't think that

Oscar Piastri | 81

He don't gaf

However YOU want to decorate, he obeys

Whether that's an all pink tree, ugly ahh skinny tree that holds one ornament, or the biggest more extravagant Christmas ever

If his beautiful partner tells him to stfu he stfu, like a good boyfriend

And even better???

He not only pays for any decoration you want, no matter how expensive or stupid it is (he just loves seeing you happy)

But he also helps put up and cleans EVERYTHING

He's up on the roof decorating, cleaning the fireplace just to make it pretty, and even re-arranging the entire living room just for you to have the perfect spot for the tree

Some call him whipped

I call him a real man

Max Verstappen | 01

He also don't gaf

But, not in the Oscar way

He fr doesn't gaf at all

Expect an ugly ass tree, or most likely not even a tree

If you're lucky, you'll get the strip of reef in the pic above

But there's a very high chance that you'll just get a printed photo of a Christmas tree that's hung on the wall

BUT he does love stupid Christmas decor

So things like a funny statue, a creepy elf on the shelf, etc are all very welcomed

Luckily, Max isn't an asshole and will 10000% celebrate however you like at all

He's just gonna follow your lead and do whatever is needed from it... With minimal effort firstly...

Oliver Bearman | 87

Like Max, but really cute and funny

He has the Christmas spirit and loves it very much

One thing he did that's very very cute is that he ordered those big inflatable

But he didn't check the size...

So now you have a 35feet tall Satan in your yard!!! Yay!!!

He's in the Christmas spirit and he got the right idea

Maybe he doesn't have the skill to decorate it,,, but he has the spirit!

Paul Aron | 17

A classy and modern Christmas

Most likely white and a bit of a snow theme going on

Mixed with black too, cause that's his aesthetic ya know

He's very active when it comes to decorating

Always helping you pick what to get, which matches each other, etc

He's also very worried about the measurements, so he always makes sure to take note of the space you have to make sure everything fits

Also helps you put everything up, it's so sweet and domestic

Like: he holds your waist while you stand on the ladder to put the star up

Pepe Marti | 21

I'm mad at him rn cause why is every photo of him so bad

But he's so painfully unaware of the fact that he's tall

The tree only has ornament son the top

All the lights and decorations are put where you can't even see

And he keeps assigning you tasks that you cannot reach

Which he learns to take note of, always laughing at you before saying sorry

The decoration is very warm and homey

Definitely the type to bring over his friends to have dinner all together

His home isn't crazy decorated, but still nice and cozy

Which perfectly matches your relationship's vibes

[targaryenluvs]

Can you make a fic with a dark coriolanus x reader

Post Lucy running away where he stays a peace keeper for some time and he helped reader avoid being picked for the games and he abuses his power as peace keeper against reader whom he helped and holds it over her head (she has no family but her friends are like family) and he does all types of fucked up stuff to her sexually and he fetishizes her for being a woc (reader is a woman of color) and he fetishizes her skin or something and he keeps saying all creepy stuff and he then marries her (after convincing her no one would want her after him) and parades her around and shows off to capitol ppl who also fetishize her and she becomes basically his property with a creepy nickname and you pick the ending

BROWN JEWEL

pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!poc!reader

summary: he was a lifeline and you’d grabbed on in hopes to avoid the reaping, but you were coriolanus’ obsession and he was not going to let you go.

warnings: obsession, abuse of power, nc touching, threats, forced marriage, fetishisation of skin color?? non-con (p in v), public sex, pregnancy, forced marriage, jealousy of infants? kisses, kinda stockholm/reader gives in

wordcount: 3.1k

a/n: audibly gasped reading this rq (i did change it around a bit since some of it i was unsure of how to write and if i felt comfy doing it) i went off track for sure

this was your last year for being involved with the reaping.

just tomorrow then you'd be in the clear for the rest of your life.

you had friends who relied on you, and their families which were practically your own. you’d been raised with them after your parents passed and you owed them your life. you were an amazing hunter and your game kept them going. you were skilled with hunting, medicine, literate because of your best friends mother. you helped them all in so many ways and you knew they needed you.

through your older years, you began to realise you weren’t exactly the same as your friends. their light skin and light eyes in contrast to your darker tones were always a reminder of your unshared bloodline. yet they never treated you any differently.

you had to live for them.

so it was how you ended up in the tree line by the peacekeepers barracks. hoping to bribe one into pulling your name from the bowl before it was placed infront of the justice building. what you didn’t expect was for a soldier to find you first.

“what’re you doing here?” he spoke from behind you as you stumbled to get up. “i... i wanted to talk to someone, to try and uhm, get them to do something for me.” he exuded confidence with his chin in the air and his grip on his gun. he obviously thought he was better than you. “what do you want me to do for you?” you sighed, “i was hoping, to get my name taken out of the reaping bowl.” he tilted his head, a smirk on his face and you wanted to peel your skin off with the way he was looking at you.

“come closer.” and you did, stepping into the moonlight. he found you to be gorgeous, glowing. “i’ll do it.” your eyes widened as you smiled, “thank you!” and he took a step closer to you, “but what will i get in return?”

and that’s when you should’ve run for the hills.

at the reaping ceremony, he coincidentally placed himself right next to your row. his stares were harsh on your back. your hands were sweating and you couldn’t think straight until that name was called, and it wasn’t yours.

“we’re safe.” your friend whispered into your ear as you smiled at her, “yeah, we are.” but for some reason you weren’t convinced. the peacekeeper was on you like a shadow ever since the day before. on the walk home he was following you and you knew it, but if you confronted him you had no clue what he’d do to you. so you felt it best to keep your head down, and get home. you didn’t expect for him to barge his way in.

“what’re you doing?” your voice was shaky and you could feel the perspiration on you, for someone reason this man made your body go haywire and you wanted to leave. “why? can’t i come see the pretty girl i saved?” your head was facing downwards as you began to mumble, “my names only in eight times, my odds were low anyways. a lot of people took tessera.” you heard him click his tongue, tutting and shaking his head in disagreement, “seven.”

he was right infront of you now, and as he bent down to whisper in your ear, you froze up, “i don’t do things for free y/n. when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect.” he held your face in his hand as you asked, “what’s your name?” he smiled, “coriolanus, but you can call me corio.” and he held you to it.

every time you saw him he’d be unbelievably smug.

even your friends noticed, “he keeps staring at you, that peacekeeper.” you were having a night out, your senses flooded with music and laughter. but not too far away was coriolanus, downing his beer. you shifted around before slyly looking his way. “it’s probably nothing. you know how these peacekeepers are. i think i’m going to head home.” you kissed her cheek before making your way out and to your home.

you were only a few minutes away when you took notice of the shadow behind you, lurking. “y/n.” you stopped in your tracks and turned his way. “corio.” he grinned at the nickname you used. his expression should've warned you, his words rung through your mind.

an intoxicated man was a dangerous one.

"when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect."

corio held you against the shabby wall as his hands held you in place. your pants swamped at your ankles as he rutted into you harshly. “stay quiet for me yeah?” your hands shoved at his chest but it seemed to be pointless.

“please, please corio not here.” coriolanus couldn’t bring himself to listen to you, and he sure as hell didn’t care if someone saw. what were they going to do? you were his, you needed to realise that. the quicker you did the easier it would be for you. your cries and protests went in one ear and out the other, “shh, i’ve got you. don’t worry.” he cooed, ignoring your pleas.

you felt humiliated, treated like trash. taken in an alleyway like a whore, as coriolanus continued on. your legs felt like jelly and your weight rested on the wall behind. his hands came up to lower your shirt, your breasts spilling out. “fuck, you’re made for me. all mine.” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

“come for me baby. come on.” you didn’t want to, you wanted to run away from him but your breath was laboured as your head lolled back. but even with that he wasn’t done with you. he wanted more. he wanted all of you and he wouldn’t stop until he’d had enough. you weren’t sure if he’d ever get his fill.

your cheeks burned as you walked back to your home, cum-stained panties and shame filling you to the brim. acquaintances walked past, you smiled and waved with fake kindness. your feet dragged along, your legs shaky and hands trembling. you wanted to drag the walk out as long as possible.

coriolanus could tell, but he couldn’t do anything yet. so he grit his teeth and walked with determination.

he’d punish you later.

and it was all you knew. almost every night corio crawled into your home, took you all over the house till dawn. and in return you were able to provide your family with everything they could want.

dana has a cold?

the medicine was at the front door hours later.

peter hurt himself at the mines?

a first aid kit was ready to be picked up by noon.

not a single person around you was hungry, sick or uncared for. all thanks to coriolanus. your friends were able to infer where all your resources came from, but you’d never asked for their aid.

you just wanted to help them, in any way you could.

what you didn’t anticipate was coriolanus in your home, tossing your nicest clothes into a suitcase. the jewellery he’d bought, shoes etc. “what’s going on? why are you packing my things?” he didn’t respond, he just kept packing, moving around the room and throwing in things he deemed important.

“we’re leaving, back to the capitol. you’re coming with me, now help me pack.” you grabbed his wrist in a moment of anger, forgetting your place. “let. go. now.” he demanded as you retracted your hand, “i’m sorry. but, you need to talk to me. i’m not going to the capitol corio, this is my home.” you should’ve known he was going to hate your words.

he grabbed your wrists, fingers digging in as you cried out in pain. “you are coming with me, otherwise i am more than happy to hurt you. all the supplies for your friends? gone. you know i won’t hesitate to hurt them. so if you want them to be taken care of, you’ll listen to me. now pack your things and shut up.” he spit out as you pulled away from him.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

the capitol scared you to no extent. the prying eyes, the excessive, almost wasteful, wealth and resources. you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. the people of panem viewed you to be a rare phenomenon. as if darker skin was unattainable. it was nothing like district 12, and you knew you’d never fully fit in. but corio wouldn’t let that be.

coriolanus thrived under dr gaul. overtime he’d been provided with an apartment and inheritance courtesy of the plinths and he was happy to indulge his sweet girl with whatever she could wish for.

the most expensive silks, finest jewels. you felt like a little porcelain doll, with multiple faces. you were bound to crack.

by the time coriolanus snow rose to be the president of panem, all the fight in your body was a distant memory, a shell of your former self. "you have everything you could ever wish for," according to your husband, "but you still think of them." his words were filled with disdain but held an ounce of truth.

your heart yearned for home. for peters terrible cooking. for dana’s flower crowns. nights out with your friends singing your heart out before sneaking out to the lake a certain covey had let slip on. a simple life.

but it all felt to be out of your grasp, far in the back of your mind.

presidential campaigns, parties, shopping, and super rich kids with nothing but fake friends. it was all your new normal. the residents of panem tolerated you for being the first lady of panem, admired you for your looks, and despised you for your background.

you’d never felt more alone.

you found solace in your children. ciron, your baby boy. only five years old but undeniably bright. he was ahead of most children his age in studies, able to remember so much in such a small mind. he was the spitting image of coriolanus. the old coriolanus. curly blonde hair, striking blue eyes. but his kindness, his care for others? that was all his mother. he was the perfect mix, and a huge mommy’s boy. the second he learned something knew he rambled on about it, only to you. he loved to play with your hair, curling it around his fingers.

“now we match mommy!” he smiled as you picked him up, resting him on your hip. “now i’m almost as pretty as you baby.” you teased as you attacked him with kisses on his face. he squirmed in your arms, small hands coming to cover his face. the noise seemed to wake caroline, her squeals and cries echoing through the home.

“shh, we have to be quiet okay?” ciron nodded as the two of you made your way to her nursery. it was caroline’s first birthday today, and coriolanus had spared no expense on your account. the celebration was to be held at your home, filled with people who couldn’t care less. but you just wanted to give her what you never had. a party at the presidents house was rare, and a lot of the hadn’t seen you in a while.

caroline was all you. darker skin than ciron, olive like. brown eyes and dark hair.

during your pregnancy with ciron, coriolanus showed you off to the people. you were regularly seen out and about, at parties, shopping, walking etc. coriolanus took any opportunity to parade you about to the people of panem. something out of their reach but so sweet, so beautiful. you despised it, being seen as nothing more than his property.

“she’s a fine girl you have coriolanus.” grandma’am spoke as she pinched your cheeks, “just have to take the district out of her.” as if you were an animal to be dissected.

“are there any more of her type?” the man joked as coriolanus’s hand tightened on your waist.

you’d always loved yourself, your hair, your skin color, your body. but it all seemed to be under coriolanus’s ownership the second you’d allowed him to take you to the captiol. no one cared about you. no one bothered to help. they just admired and touched when they could.

so you’d plead with him, begging him to let you rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. he surprisingly agreed, letting you confine yourself to your shared room.

and with cirons birth, you felt hope. his wide eyes, consuming all he could with his sight, his tiny fingers wrapping around your finger. your heart swelled with joy at his face, your saving grace.

coriolanus wanted to pry him from your fingers. for the next few weeks your attention was purely on the boy and coriolanus began to feel neglected. he was already traumatised from his own mothers passing, his sister taking her life. with the announcement of your own pregnancy the thoughts poured in.

would the baby take you too?

would he be forced to listen to your screams?

would he have to raise the baby he despised?

he hadn’t even met your child yet and he'd already made his mind up. the baby was no good, an heir was needed of course but at the cost of his wife? would he pay the price?

your screams of agony and pain clawed at his throat. he felt sick, bile rising as he forced it down. coriolanus would not be seen as weak. but he couldn’t help himself, your hands clutched onto his as a lifeline. your pleas for aid, and coriolanus could do nothing. helpless.

the finest doctors in panem, machinery and medicine yet it all seemed useless.

to you it was worth it, the second you held him in your arms. all the pain in the world if it meant you’d have him as the outcome. one of the nurses placed a pair of scissors in his hands, urging him to cut the cord as coriolanus masked his disgust.

snip!

tigris cooed over the baby as lethargy hung over you like a cloud. “isn’t he the sweetest coriolanus?” all he managed was a nod, his focus on you.

his strong wife, who’d given way to new life. your eyes were fluttering close as you murmured, “ciron.” the doctors and nurses gleefully agreed, “what a fine name!” the head doctor announced as he held him in his arms, a nurse taking him away to be cleaned.

and after all that, you were pregnant once more. another child for the happy family but another nuisance in his eyes between yourself and him.

all you ever cared about was the kids.

“has caroline eaten?”

“is ciron awake?”

“is his teacher here yet?”

“coriolanus, i think we need to take ciron shopping again. he’s growing so quickly!” he knew he should’ve been happy. but all he wanted was for you to be his again. you were always too tired for him, already asleep with ciron by your side, taking his place.

or you were breastfeeding caroline, meaning that he was sure he wasn’t going to get to feel you up that night. too sore, too tired, not in the mood. he couldn’t catch a break.

-

you’d decided to have caroline and ciron match. baby blue, how sweet!

it’d only been about an hour in and you’d had enough. these people never really moved on. the same comments about how special you were, how lucky you were. compliments stuffed down your throat you were sure you’d gag.

you grounded yourself with caroline, clutching onto her as coriolanus made the rounds. “anna!” you shouted out to one of your servers. “yes, mrs snow?” you refrained from rolling your eyes at the last name, “bring the cake out, now please.” she wasn’t sure, “mr snow said-” you smiled at her, “caroline’s getting fussy, better if we blow the candles out now so i can feed her and get her to bed.” she scurried away to get everything in order as coriolanus found you.

“sweetheart. you can’t hide the birthday girl at her party.” you chuckled, “i know, i know. she’s getting tired, we’re going to have to get the candles out early. cirons already sleepy too, he worked really hard today. i’m so proud of him.” you beamed as coriolanus took a sip from his glass, “oh did he?” he sneered. you were about to reply but the cake being carried out took your attention. “look sweetie! it’s your cake!” caroline lifted her head from your shoulder as you pointed at it.

“come on corio.” he downed his drink before following along. maybe if he was nice you’d fuck him tonight.

the four of you were a picture perfect family, cameras shuttered as everyone sang for caroline. she rested on your side as ciron stood in front of coriolanus, his hands resting on his sons shoulders. a smile plastered on his face. “happy birthday to you!” you bent down with caroline to blow the candles out as everyone cheered.

for once, you felt happy.

you sat infront of caroline’s crib, rocking it side to side. it was around 12 now, the party packed up, ciron in bed sleeping soundly, and coriolanus in his study. it’d been a while since you and coriolanus had been together. your pregnancy with caroline was risky according to doctors and you were told to take it easy. it’d been at least two months since his last time with you, and god he needed release.

once you figured she was asleep you made your way to corios study. “corio? you busy?” you peaked your head through the door to find corio writing away. “come in.” you closed the door behind you as he rolled back in his seat, patting his lap as you plopped down.

“you want something?” you rested your head in the crook of neck, roses infiltrating your senses. “m’ tired, wanna sleep with you.” coriolanus was taken aback for once, in his eyes you’d deprived him of your presence for so long and here you were wanting for him. coriolanus would have to settle for now. he caressed your cheek, “alright, come on.” his arm lifted your legs and you interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

over your time with coriolanus you’d learned to like things about him, since there was no point in you hating him anymore. his voice in the night, whispering to you. his soft hands washing your hair. when he was relaxed, the two of you would bask in eachothers presence, reading silently. baths together, his hands raking through your hair, trailing over your body with care. and as the two of you slept together, in a tight embrace, coriolanus felt at ease.

his brown jewel, all to himself.

[smuthospital]

⭐️Degrees of lewdly: Eden⭐️

Premise: You're a spooky place youtube explorer, and you get lost in a big scary forest! Eden voorhees lol. Reader is fem. Enjoy!

Art by Minagami

Re-upload because tumblr took it down last time.

Content Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, tummy bulge, blood, Eden is Jason, Voorhees

Miners DNI

You've never really gone hiking before and it's proven itself to be a lot more difficult than you originally thought it would be. You like to explore places you've never been, spooky places. more for the thrill. you started filming it and posting your videos on youtube. You usually take some friends along, but all of your friends decided to be little babies this time since the place you're exploring is extra creepy this time. It's a large forest 20 miles away from your city. You borrowed your mom's car to get here. you always tell them you're at a friend's house because they'd kill you if they ever found out you're putting yourself in possibly harmful situations. This forest is known for creepy sightings, disappearances, ghosts, and lots of other things your viewers would love to watch. You've been to abandoned hospitals, cemeteries, tunnels, all that good stuff. You don't think you'll actually see anything, but you brought a can of pepper spray just in case.

The wind howls, making the trees dance above you. The shapes that were once branches in the day have turned into long gangly fingers that desperately reach for you and the bushes now house entities with red eyes and fangs that you imagine want to tear you to pieces! "Wow, guys. This might just be the scariest one yet, haha. There's probably some sort of scp in here with me haha!" You try to keep yourself company by talking to your soon-to-be viewers when you post this, but it's really just to keep you calm.

"I'm a bit lost. The trail kinda disappeared somewhere around here, I think. there's just so much long grass and it's more of a footpath than an actual trail." you complain as you try to spot any familiar landmarks. It's almost impossible. It might be easier in the day for sure, but the night masks everything. You step over decayed logs and large roots, feeling worry set in. What if you're really lost!? Your thoughts come to an abrupt stop when you hear a strange sound not too far from where you're standing. Your blood freezes as you feel a cold sweat coming on. Maybe...maybe it's a person? And maybe they can help you?..or..a monster!? No, (Y/n), this is no time to be silly! That could be a person willing to help you before you get yourself completely lost!

Little did you know you were already a mile deep, walking in the wrong direction.

“I heard a sound. It could be someone who could help me get back on track.” You whisper. You turn off your video camera's flash light and carefully make your way to where you heard the sound, being careful not to step on anything that could alert whatever it is of your presence. You don’t want to startle it, just in case it's an animal willing to protect its territory from invaders like yourself. The sound came from below you. There's a rocky slope leading down to a river. You get down on your knees and peer between the long grass. You can't make out much in the dim moonlight... until you spot a giant of a man dragging a sack through the shallow water. His size alone sends shivers down your spine. Even from where you're crouching, you could tell he would dwarf you the way a cat would to a mouse. You examine him a bit more.The sack is stained in a dark colour that is seeping through the fabric and into the water. You don't dare move a muscle or even breathe. You can't believe your eyes. This can't be real. Are you in a horror movie?

You make sure he disappears behind the tree line with the mysterious sack before letting out a breath. You didn't want to accidentally alert him of your presence in any shape or form. He was probably just a hunter. Yeah, he could have helped you, but he also could have added you to the wet sack and you were not risking that.

You stand up and turn around, ready to get as far away from here as possible, only to bump your nose into a tree. The collision causes you to drop your camera. That's strange. You don't remember walking around a tree to look over the cliff. You rub your nose in annoyance. Wait a minute... This tree didn't have rough bark like the rest of them...Your brain blanks out. You've been in denial this entire time, your brain working extra hard to rationalize what's happening. Before you is a large torso. You can't even see their shoulders from how close you're standing, just a wide, firm chest. You crane your neck up and it takes you a good three seconds before your brain registers that you're looking at the man from before..and he's wearing a mask!

He looks down at you with a focused gaze. You let out a short scream and try to run away, but being within arm's reach of the giant makes it too easy for him to simply reach out and grab the back of your top. He lifts you off your feet with one arm and brings you to his eye level. He cocks his head to the side, observing you slowly. He looks down at the camera you dropped and places his large boot on it, pressing down and crushing it. You start to hyperventilate. He's gonna chop you up and wear your skin, he's gonna keep you in a dark hole and shout "It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again!" You thrash in his iron grip, pushing at his large hand and sobbing untellable pleas for mercy, but your begging falls on deaf ears. "I-I'm sorry. I-I'll leave, I promise! Please let me go! I-I didn't mean to bother you, I'm sorry!" You cry. Your little struggle seems to have made your shirt ride up a bit, showcasing your supple flesh to his thirsty eyes. His eyes laser focus on your bare skin.

To your confusion, his hand reaches to caress your skin, feeling the smooth texture before slowly moving up. You wiggle more, scared of where this is going. His hand soon finds your breast and cups it before giving it a squeeze. He shudders. His breathing becomes heavier as he continues to mess with your body, his thumb rolling over your nipple. All you can do is whimper and wiggle in his hold. his hand begins sliding down and you scream. You suddenly remember you brought a can of pepper spray, whipping it out of your back pocket and pointing it at his face. Then as you were about to press down and unleash the fire juice, it was gone. In his hand that was previously molesting you lies the remains of your poor pepper spray, crushed and bubbling pathetically. He was so fast you hadn't even realized he snatched it. You just stare at him in horror. To your surprise, he's not even mad, too preoccupied with the need to explore your privates. You hold his wrist and look into his eyes. He looks back into yours as if telling you to stop. You hesitantly let go, and he nods as if to tell you that you've made the right decision. His hand cups your pussy through your jeans, pressing in a bit at the entrance. He seems eager.

He lifts you higher and uncomfortably sets you on his shoulder, his hand on your ass to keep you in place. You don't even bother struggling. You'll wait for an opportunity. If this man wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You don't want to provoke him. From your spot on his shoulder, You notice that he's got a hunting rifle strapped to his back along with a machete. He has an assortment of things attached to his hips among them being a hunting knife and bullet pocket. You shiver. One more off-putting thing that's just about forcing bile up your throat is that he's also covered in a dark wet liquid. You haven't noticed till now, but you haven't been breathing so his smell has now come to your attention. He smells strongly of iron. To that, you're not very surprised.

He starts marching down the hill you were previously watching him from. You have no idea how you saw him disappear through the treeline and he still managed to sneak up on you. He picks up the large stained sack where he left it in favor of locating his little spying mouse. It smells awful, the meaty smell assaulting your senses every second. It's been 15 minutes and an opportunity to escape has not shown itself. This is it. This is how you die. Your body will never be found. Maybe in a few years in a shallow grave by some hiker if you're lucky. This inhuman mass of muscle is going to cut you up and eat you. Maybe even skip cutting you up. He could probably eat you whole as pre-workout. He lifts his leg to step over a large log, his grip on your ass slightly loosening just enough for you to catch him off guard and slip off his shoulder. You grunt as you fall into the dirt and leaves behind him. You scramble up before the giant can scoop you up. You run in a random direction. You just needed to get away from him, getting out of the forest was a problem for later. You didn't even think about how fast he'd be. How could someone be so big and fast!? He took off after you and suddenly, he was on your ass. You've never felt such a primal fear as he chased you like a hungry animal.

A large hand grabs your shoulder and rips you backwards. You fall on your back and stare up at the man now on his knees in front of you, his body completely casting a shadow before yours. He gets down on his hands, caging you too the ground, his body inches above yours. You stare into the holes of his mask and into his rabid eyes. He leans in by your neck. You stop breathing once again, you think your heart stopped. You feel something large and hard pressing roughly into your crotch. You hear him take a deep breath and smell you..."Smells nice." His voice is deep and rough, but it sounds like he rarely uses it. You scream and begin to cry again, not being able to take it anymore. You fight him with all your might. He grabs your wrists with one hand. You hear him chuckle a bit before his hand comes up to cup your check. He suddenly squeezes it and twists your face around to get a better look at your features. He grinds his hips against yours, teasing you of what's to come. He roughly releases your face, before standing to his full height and dragging you up with him. He tosses you back over his shoulder, this time with an almost bone-crushing grip. “Name.” His tone is commanding. When you fail to answer right away, his fingers press into the area on your crotch. Threatening to rip right through. “(Y/n)! My name is (Y/n)!” He hums in response.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as he walks back over to where he left his murder mystery sack. He navigates through the forest as he knows it like the back of his hand until he comes upon a clearing where his home stands. A lonely wooden cabin. He drops the gooey meat bag on the ground. You cringe at the wet sound it makes on impact. You peer over at the sack to see a human hand flop out. Before you could react, he slams his hand over your mouth painfully. "Shut up." He waits for you to nod before removing his hand. He opens his front door and steps inside. It smells musty, like old wood and man smell. Not bad, but not amazing either. He walks up his stairs and sets you on a very large bed. You take a deep breath in, your stomach sore from being jabbed by his shoulder for the entirety of the long walk.

He doesn't let you get comfortable though. His hands are on you in an instant, grabbing your clothes and ripping them to shreds like tissue paper, you're naked before you could even hold any of your clothes together. Hungry eyes leer over you through his mask. You feel his hot breath fan you through the bottom of his mask. "S-stop it, please! Don't hurt me!" You beg. As if to mock your plea, his rough hand grips your plush thigh a little too close to your cunt and squeezes it tightly before shoving it against your chest, making room for himself between them.

He releases you for a moment, only to unzip his uncomfortably tight pants. You shut your eyes and look away, only to feel the soul-crushing weight of his cock slam against your lower stomach. You writhe underneath him, small sobs and hiccups coming from your mouth every few seconds. He pauses for a moment but ultimately decides to continue. You peer up between your wet palms and see him rubbing the tree trunk between his thighs while looking down at your pathetic form.

"W-wait! I-I'm not rea-" He grabs your thighs and forces you closer to him and lines his cock up with your entrance, he slides it up and down your folds, causing you to shudder. He doesn't care if you're ready or not. You shut your eyes as he presses forth. You scream in pain. It won't go in. You're too tight, he's too big and you're dry. The tip can't even get through. You whimper in pain. It burns. You need moisture. He lifts his mask a bit and you get a peek of his jaw. It's noticeably sharp and covered in stubble. You feel his saliva plap against your poor dry cunt before he puts his mask back into place. He tries to enter you again. You yelp. He gets a bit through before he can't anymore. He sighs. He was trying to be gentle. He didn't want to break you so quickly...

He grips your thighs tightly. You feel his nails dig in. You barely have time to register the pain before you feel like you're being ripped in two. He's forcing his way in. You immediately let out a scream and begin spazzing. He just continues until he reaches his base, more than snug against your insides. Drool leaks past the corner of your lip as you stare off into space. He breathes heavily and stares at the bulge he created in your lower stomach. He brushes his hand over it and watches as you whimper and twitch. He pulls his hips back and watches it disappear before ramming himself in again and seeing it jab through your insides. He chuckles.

You lay there, unable to do anything but feel what he's doing to you. You lift your arm and place it on his lower stomach, hoping to stop him that way. You feel his rock-hard abs through his shirt and push. "You're...adorable...fuck.. you're tight." He groans before he slams himself deep inside and you clench around him. He hisses and struggles to pull out halfway, your insides trying to pull him back in. He slams in again and presses himself as deeply as he can, firmly hugging your cervix with his cock. Your eyes cross as he thrusts in and out, keeping a proper pace. Moans spill from your lips along with jumbled-up words he can't make out, all of which sound like music to his ears.

He leans over you, forcing himself snugly against you again, his mask right next to your cheek. He groans as he feels you twitch around him. "Feel..so good... was worried you'd rip... you're only bleeding a little." You can hear the smug grin in his tone.

It feels so good. You're so ashamed, feeling good when you're being raped by a maniac. You clench your tear-filled eyes as he pounds into your aching cunt. The knot in your lower stomach bursts as you cum. He moans as you tighten around him. He stills for a second, just enjoying how you feel before he pounds into you like a feral beast. You're surprised your pelvis is holding up. He grips your waist tight and grunts as he empties his balls deep inside you. You can almost feel yourself getting pregnant. You feel too full. Your stomach bloats with cum. You feel hot and fuzzy. Your pussy is so very sore and your legs are numb. He pants above you. "I've been thinking of getting myself a little wife like you." He says as he slowly pulls his still throbbing cock out with a wet 'pop'. "You're a pretty little thing and you take my cock well. Be grateful I'm letting you live as my cock sleeve." He stands up, towering over your crumpled body once again. "My name is Eden. Your duties from now on are cooking, cleaning, mending my clothes and taking my seed. Do not make me repeat these orders. Object and I won't hesitate to remind you of your place. I was gentle this time." His giant cock is still dripping your juices. You can't stop looking at it. Ge takes notice and climbs over you before grabbing your head and forcing you close to his groin. "I see you love cock. Lick it clean then like a good wife. go on."

You look up at him and hesitate a bit too long. You see anger flash in his eyes and you quickly envelop his tip in your mouth. He groans as you lick your mixed juices off, going as deep as you can without choking. He moans and grabs the back of your head. He stares down at you with such intensity that you can feel him burning holes into you. You suddenly feel your throat being invaded and your nose pressing into his pubic hair, nose pressing into his crotch. He moves you back and forth, face fucking you. You struggle to breathe properly through your nose. You let out muffled whimpers and cries, sending vibrations through his cock. He grunts in pleasure before you feel a load of hot thick liquid being shot into your mouth and down your throat. You're so tired. He slowly pulls his cock back and laughs at your exhausted state. Your head flops back onto the bed, your jaw and lips so incredibly sore and raw feeling. "Good girl." He says before your sight fades to black. You explored a bit too much.

[maybe-im-dark]

The one thing Logan wasn't prepared for, when moving in with Wade and Al was the merchandise. Wade has a shit-ton of Wolverine merchandise. There's of course the music box of the other Logan being impaled on a tree. But there's also posters, action figures and even underwear. Logan's breath hitches. He moved in with his own fucked up creepy stalker. Wade sees his reaction and sheepishly admits, that yes he was a fan of him but he never thought they'd meet.

"Look, everyone is a fan of the Wolverine! Teenage girls have your poster above their bed and pictures of you in their school lockers covered in lipstick stains!"

"That does not make it better!"

"What i wanna say is, you're a huge deal, okay? You're like the mutant version of the Beatles except there's only one of you and your singing would be terrible and you have no sense of style!"

Wade agrees to put all the stuff into a box under the bed. Not forever. Just until Logan has gotten accustomed to his status in this universe. Logan doesn't want Wade to love him for being a famous X-Men. He wants to be loved for being himself

[greenfiend]

Lonnie Byers

why he is far more significant in Stranger Things than we are led to believe...

“The scariest monsters are human beings and what we will do to each other.”

This post is very much inspired by @/kaypeace21's post on Lonnie from 2021. Just so you guys know, kaypeace21 theorized Byler LONG before most of us. She has a pretty good track record for predicting aspects of Stranger Things. This post will include some of her brilliant finds and will add even more evidence that was introduced to us in ST4 and TFS.

Warning: this post discusses some VERY dark and mature themes. I will allude to dark stuff at first but will leave the darkest stuff below the cut.

CW: Ab*se, CSA, substance use, DV...

The name Lonnie (nickname of Lawrence/Laurence) has two specific relevant meanings:

Lion and Oak tree. x

(Some symbolism examples: Nancy compares the Demogorgon (also titled: Deep Father) to a lion in ST1. In ST3, Holly notices trees (what looks like oak trees...) and looks frightened.)

For every mention of trees and predatory cats/lions I will add 🌳and 🦁 emojis respectively.

Keep both of these in mind as both predatory animals/cats and (creepy) trees are common occurrences within Stranger Things. I will touch on both of these throughout the post.

Anyway, lets start with the surface level stuff we know then I'll touch more on the darker subtext.

So, who is Lonnie Byers?

When we first hear the name Lonnie, he is brought up as a potential suspect by Hopper in Will's disappearance.

Joyce is quick to dismiss him as a suspect but does give us some important information about his character:

Lonnie "used to say [Will] was queer. Called him a fag." Whether or not he would say this to Will's face... he's obviously, not a great guy or father.

Joyce and Lonnie are divorced. She hadn't heard from him in about a year.

He doesn't like cops.

In The First Shadow, we actually learn that this is not the first time Lonnie is seen as a suspect in a case. (spoilers in next paragraph)

Lonnie was mistaken for Victor Creel and he was investigated for the animal murders by Hopper. This was not just a random choice, remember, Lonnie's name means Lion as in the predatory animal 🦁. Jonathan also told us that Lonnie made him hunt rabbits. This is a major hint! So, Victor Creel is innocent, and near the end of the play, Henry tells Joyce that she's so close yet so far from the truth (I'm paraphrasing). He's absolutely right though, the truth was right under her nose but unfortunately she doesn't see it (yet).

The fact that they made a very obvious comparison of Lonnie Byers to Victor Creel, the suspected murderer of his entire family... lets just say... it tells us A LOT.

Anyway, back to learning about Lonnie in season 1.

Joyce tries to reach out to Lonnie about Will, but is unsuccessful. He doesn't pick up the phone. His girlfriend does and says he's unavailable.

In a flashback, we hear Joyce and Lonnie argue about Lonnie not coming to play baseball with Will. She says she's "so sick of [his] excuses" which obviously means he has frequently made false promises/let Will down. He obviously does not prioritize Will.

To further prove that point, we later literally see him close Will off as he hammers wood right in the entry way for Will to return. The comic about Will's time in the UD gives a heartbreaking look into Will's POV. He cries to his father to not shut him out, but Lonnie ignores Will's cries...

Paralleling El's flashback to when Papa locked her in the dark room and ignored her cries... (the existence of that scene and many other flashbacks with El and Papa make me strongly believe that El's memories of Papa are altered version of Will's memories of Lonnie... I won't go into that much though in this post).

Just look at that obvious bright light in the closet behind Lonnie. Same light Will stared at prior to vanishing… That accompanied with El’s flashback of being locked in a room alone, paints a rather grin image. He’s trying to shut Will out.

Just from these clues so far, he’s not a good father.

To stay or to go…

(a bear (Will) vs. a tree branch 🌳)

If you pay close attention, you’ll see many references to this song within the show… and they even specifically made the association between a father and son when Steve called Dustin “dad”. Which father and son pair are the most associated with the song? Will and Lonnie… as that song first played in the scene where Lonnie tells Joyce he won’t be taking Will to baseball practice.

We can tell from these moments (and more) that dad wants Will to stay put and not go anywhere. We even have Dustin (the one symbolizing “dad”) telling Will to “get back here… I’m going to kill you.” Those were also the last words spoken to Will before he vanished. This is significant.

Suspicious Evidence...

When we see Jonathan visit Lonnie's looking for Will, there's a small bike behind him.

We know Will left his bike in the forest 🌳 when he vanished. Why does Lonnie have a child's bike?

Demogorgon also means "The Deep Father". I talk more about this here. Will is telling Mike in code that his father "got [him]".

Joyce is yelling at "Papa" that he took her son away.

The line of God (aka a father) taking "someone so young, so innocent" at Will's funeral with the focus on Lonnie.

In TFS (spoiler), Lonnie admits to stealing baby Jesus from the Nativity scene.

(GIF credit to @/kaypeace)

This specific shot tells us what we need to know. Lonnie is responsible for Will's disappearance. He is hammering the nail in the wall and it directly cuts to Mike representing the gate being opened with a pencil and paper. Lonnie is the reason the gate opened in the first place! Now, when I say that I don’t mean he literally opened the gate, I mean that the a*use he inflicted onto Will had caused all the monsters within the show and the creation of the Upside Down. Bold claim to make, I know… but bear with me here. As I will now go into the darker clues…

Lonnie's "Type"

Joyce refers to Lonnie's girlfriend as a "teenager". This is significant! Because (spoiler for TFS), Lonnie dated Joyce when he was 25 and she was 17!

This is a pattern for him. He not only preys on animals 🦁, he preys on teenagers... and it gets even worse.

Look, the implications here are, unfortunately, very clear. We see Lonnie look at Jonathan walking away, then he looks down at the photo of Will with the dialogue "He's kinda cute, hmm?"

"Maybe I'll trade you in for the younger model?" is said while Lonnie looks in Jonathan's direction.

Trading someone for someone younger. He likes them young.

He is a predator. You may not want to believe the truth here but as we know with this show... everything is intentional.

Let’s continue on with even more disturbing clues…

When Joyce and Hopper find Will in the UD, he is in a library (a place of archives, of documented history) And he appears like this...

He's being violated... by the vines. Vines, that grow on trees. 🌳Lonnie means oak tree... This is a representation of documented history that he had been se*ually assaulted by... the tree with vines... Lonnie. Also if you look into the full lyrics of “Should I Stay or Should I Go”… let’s just stay it’s disturbing how that song is associated with a young boy and his father…

Also... keep in mind that the vines are preventing Will from speaking. Will is being silenced as well.

Next season we see the MF force itself into Will. Again, another violation, this time by the MF (yes- the mother fucker, that is what Lonnie is after all). This was done on a field. A baseball field. We know Lonnie is associated with baseball.

And again, the MF (father) is silencing Will...

In this scene in ST3, we get yet another reference to Will being violated in the past. We are shown a flashback of the MF possessing Will, and we are given the comparison of non-consensual sex and the gate/door opening. We know this due to the term “penetration” being used in relation to opening the gate…

Murray states "the door had been opened once" while we are shown Joyce with a look of horror on her face. "It was still healing", as experiencing that does require a lot of healing.

“Larry the construction guy”. Larry is a nickname for Laurence. Lonnie is another nickname for Laurence. This line by Jonathan has multiple meanings.

Lonnie is in Will's head.

“Stuck up your nose”. Lonnie is, again, represented as violating Will.

When Jonathan confronts Lonnie we can see this Evil Dead poster behind them. Not only is it very visible but… Lonnie draws attention to it. This poster is significant! This woman is being attacked and choked by a tree. 🌳 The tree goes inside her… it violates her.

Lonnie wants Jonathan to take down the poster. This is important. He wants Jonathan to stay silent. More on this later…

If this isn’t enough symbolism to convince you, check out kaypeace21’s post where she goes in even more depth around the music/musicians Jonathan references, and even more background details that add to this. They intentionally painted the picture of him being a s*xual a*user, as the existence of all these clues all add up to the same conclusion. A very uncomfortable truth.

Dad, you’re choking me

Speaking of being choked, ever notice how this is something that seems to occur frequently within the show?

That Mike and Ted moment in particular stands out because it occurs right after the Jonathan and Lonnie confrontation with that Evil Dead poster in the background (being choked by a tree 🌳)… so the “dad” doing the choking here is absolutely Lonnie.

Yet another case of being silenced as well...

The Trunk

Probably the most concerning moment to many on the surface. Remember how “dad” said “don’t go… anywhere” and the symbolism of him shutting Will out? Well, let’s just say that it’s not a stretch to think he put Will in a trunk before.

It’s also worth noting that when Billy opens the trunk to see a tied up Heather we get a flashback of him choking her. This William is likely replaying the ab*se Will went through… he was possessed by the MF (father) after all.

Also, remember in ST2 they tied Will up and he shouted several times “why am I tied up?” Yeah… Also all those being suffocated references…

Substance Use

While everyone can struggle with substance use and it doesn’t make them a bad person, the use of substances causes the lowering of inhibition. “Lowering inhibitions means reducing restraints against behaviors that might normally seem inappropriate, dangerous, or taboo.” x This is why people under the influence of alcohol, and harder drugs can become more aggressive and a*usive.

When we see Lonnie's house, we see many cans of beer. We also see him drinking while he visits Joyce. He also encourages Joyce to drink too to help her "think straight". Hmm... strange choice of words I must say.

Now, I don’t think Lonnie just has an alcohol problem, I think he also has a stimulant use disorder. Stimulant = drugs like cocaine and crystal meth.

Kaypeace21's post goes into the details of the possible crystal meth use and how when Will was possessed by the MF, he was showing symptoms of a child on this specific substance (sweating, trembling, seizures, etc).

Another stimulant use reference, but cocaine this time. Remember Larry = Laurence = Lonnie.

There are many subtle references to drug use throughout the entire show from Papa forcibly injecting Terry Ives, El, Henry etc, to Reefer Rick and Eddie and plenty more.

Although we don't have much information on this, I think it is implied that Lonnie is a drug user. Not only does this mean that his impulses were less inhibited, but this also puts into question the possibility of further neglect. The Byers are not rich by any means, and if Lonnie is so focused on obtaining substances... that leaves barely any money for anything else.

"He made me do it…"

So as Jonathan told us, Lonnie made him kill a rabbit. The lion 🦁 forcing his offsprings (lion cubs) to hunt and kill, just like him.

This is something we have seen quite frequently within the show:

El being forced to harm a cat by Papa

Henry being forced to harm a rabbit while influenced by the MF (father)

(In TFS) Henry being pressured to harm animals by Papa

Will saying "He made me do it" in reference to the monsters attacking (he being the MF = father)

Billy saying "He made me do it" (again he being the MF = father)

D'art killing Mews

What's interesting to note is the fact that many characters are associated with rabbits and/or other small animals.

This likely also connects with the reoccurring theme of survivor's guilt within the show. Specifically, of the survivor blaming themselves for the death of others.

Max blaming herself for Billy's death

Mike blaming himself for El's death

El blaming herself for the death of the lab kids

Nancy blaming herself for Barb’s death

Lonnie forced Will to cause harm and/or blamed Will for the harm caused. We know how Will is, he's incredibly sensitive. This absolutely would weigh on his conscience.

Where’s mom in all of this?

We know she has been working a lot, but there could also be something else going on here. Could the allusions to her mental health issues come into play here as well? It's possible...

During "the source" scene with Billy's memories, Billy cries out because his mother is gone. Keep in mind, Billy's memories parallel Will's A LOT (the baseball, father calling him a "pussy"... etc), and the song "William" plays during this whole sequence.

It is likely that Joyce was separated (or emotionally distant) from Will for some time in the past...

Domestic a*use

To make the assumption that Will had witnessed DV between his parents would not be a stretch. We have already seen Lonnie and Joyce fight and it was not pretty.

We also see Billy's father slap his mom hard in the face (like I said, Billy's memories parallel Will's memories...)

We also have seen Lonnie gaslight Joyce already, trying to make her think she's "crazy" and we've seen them fight about Will and finances. This was no stable household for a young child...

Fear of the Truth

It isn’t discussed enough, but there’s a reoccurring theme of the fear of telling the truth. And no this isn’t just about coming out of the closet.

This is especially true when it comes to telling mom the truth.

El repeatedly preventing the boys from telling Mike’s mom what’s going on… specifically about the “bad men”. She fears the repercussions (demonstrating a gun pointed to her head… implying a threat… “I’m gonna kill you!”).

Mike and Nancy unable to tell their own mother what’s going on with them.

Jonathan unable to tell Joyce about “what’s going on with [him]”.

Lonnie telling Jonathan to take down the poster showing a*use and telling him to “behave” for his mother’s sake… he’s trying to silence Jonathan…

Nancy telling Mike “no more secrets”

Joyce telling Will he needs to talk to her (about what happened with the MF)

Dustin hiding D’art from his mother/the kids in general hiding the supernatural stuff from their parents

Billy unable to explain to Karen what had happened to him

Max telling Billy he needs to talk in the sauna scene

and plenty more…

Will frequently communicates in a code. We see this several times:

"It was a seven, the demogorgon got me"

Communicating through the lights

Drawing pictures instead of talking/explaining

Morse code

"Sometimes it can be scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially to people you care about the most. Because what if... what if they don't like the truth?"

The painting itself

The painting speech... using "El" instead of himself

Usually a*use of a child is not immediately obvious. Parents often think that they will immediately know if their child has been a*used, but often, the signs stay hidden. Remember that most kids are a*used by adults they know. X

Some of the common reasons why child stay silent:

They worry about being blamed, or mistakenly believe they caused the abuse.

Their a*user has threatened them in some way.

They know and maybe even feel close to their a*user and don't want to hurt them.

They think no one will believe them or help them.

Babies and children under 5 years old—who make up nearly 40% of maltreated kids—may not have the words to explain what happened to them, making it difficult or even impossible for them to ask for help. X

This is just important information that everyone needs to know. Child a*use isn’t obvious, the kid may even seem alright with spending time with their a*user… this does not mean the a*use doesn’t exist. That is a very harmful claim to make.

When it comes to a*use, especially child a*use, we must be vigilant. Because the child likely won’t tell us but they will show us the signs.

Some signs to look out for:

Any sudden, continued change in behavior.

increased anxiety

unexplained injuries x

Repressed memories

I’m just going to outright say it: the NINA plot line is important because it tells us a lot about repressed traumatic memories.

“Our brains have a defence mechanism in place to protect it from bad memories. You buried these memories long ago.”

Then in the last episode of ST4, we learn something VERY telling about Will.

Remember… Larry = Laurence = Lonnie.

They basically told us that Will only vaguely remembers Lonnie. This is an incredibly important clue to what Will is going through. Will’s trauma was so intense that he has been repressing the memories of his own father.

In ST5, this is absolutely going to be an important aspect to his arc and to the story as a whole. Will must come face-to-face with his traumatic past. Unlocking those memories will be key to finally defeating the monsters for good.

The Destroyer of Worlds

So, I’ve mentioned this many times before, but Will is compared to “Little Boy” the first atomic bomb. (Click here and here for posts about it).

He is a bomb that went off on Nov 6, 1983, freezing time, and forever changing Hawkins. J. Robert Oppenheimer was the creator of the real atomic bomb, and he was known as the “Father of the Atomic Bomb.” He was also known as “The Destroyer of Worlds”. Because Will is “Little Boy” and Lonnie is his father…

Lonnie is The Destroyer of Worlds. A perfect term for someone who inflicted such horror onto an innocent child. Because trauma like this has an incredibly profound effect on a young mind, in more ways than you can imagine. His actions are the catalyst for the chain reaction of this entire show. He pushed over that very first domino.

Why is all of this evidence so hidden? Why do we barely know anything about Will’s past with Lonnie? Because… instead of telling us his past, they’ve been showing it to us through the horrors. You have to look very deeply into the show to see the truth start to add up like a puzzle. There are many themes that reoccur/are alluded to within the show for a reason. And it’s all from one single source.

Demogorgon is The Deep Father, MF is the mother fucker (father), Papa is father, and it was Vecna’s father who was convicted of the murders.

It was father this whole time.

[portagas-chan]

Yours Forever and Ever : Part 1

Yandere Katakuri x Isekai Reader

Summary: [Y/n] is part of the Strawhat Crew. She followed Luffy and the others to retrieve Sanji. However, she was separated from her friends and was kidnapped by Big Mom's children. Luckily, she wasn't going to be killed but held as a hostage by none other than 'Charlotte Katakuri' who is considered to be the strongest sweet commander in the Big Mom Pirates.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/portagas-chan/748738024063516672/yours-forever-and-ever-part-2?source=share

Nobody knew she was from another world, not even the straw hats. She never told anyone and when she first arrived here, she came up with a lie and they all believed her, even Zoro which was surprising. The straw hats accepted her and welcomed her to their crew. She felt joyful.

Anyways, that's not important. [Y/n] was in trouble. She got separated from Luffy and the others in the Seducing Forest. She would be doing okay if she encountered an opponent who was not a sweet commander. However, she would stand no chance against them if they were a sweet commander. She hoped Lady Luck would be on her side today.

[Y/n] walked and walked, she didn't know where she was going but it didn't matter. It wasn't like she could fly. There was nothing she could do. Suspicious enough, the trees shifted to form a path where she found herself outside the Seducing Forest. All the thinking was giving her a headache and she decided to be meh.

[Y/n] looked around in awe at her surroundings. The whole island was literally made up of sweets. It was even crazier seeing this in person. Suddenly, she felt her leg go numb and fell onto her knees. The last thing she saw was the triplets -Smoothie, Citron, and Cinnamon- staring down with Flampe laughing at her.

She widened her eyes in realization, 'I knew it was too good to be true. This was a trap made by Brulee.'

A harsh splash of water stung her face as she scrunched her nose and slowly opened her eyes. She looked at Flampe who had a now empty bucket of water, glaring at her, "Was that necessary?"

"You were sleeping so soundly. I thought you weren't going to wake up," Flampe retorted to which she rolled her eyes. She was tied up in a chair.

[Y/n] analyzed her surroundings. Sitting in front of her was Big Mom who stared at her with that creepy grin on her face. It was frightening to see her in person.

Then there was Katakuri and his triplets -Oven and Daifuku- looking intimidating as ever. There was Perospero licking his lollipop and Smoothie with her triplets and of course, Flampe. All attention was on her and it was not in a good way.

"[Y/n] from the StrawHats. I will admit, your captain is a brave one but to survive in the New World, bravery is not enough. Mamamama!" Big Mom laughed.

[Y/n] stayed silent. She would be lying if she said she wasn't scared at all. In fact, she was terrified. Terrified of what would happen to her. But she had faith in Luffy. Even if she was kidnapped, she knew Luffy would eventually come and save her. He would never abandon his crew member. That's just how he is.

"So, what do you think we should do with her, my children?" Big Mom asked.

"I say we kill her!" Flampe demanded.

'Bitch,' [Y/n] cursed in her mind.

"Now, now, don't be hasty. Taking her hostage can give us so much advantages in many ways," Perospero suggested.

Big Mom's expression seemed to brighten a little. It seems she likes Perospero's suggestion. "Taking her hostage? I like that! Which one of you would like to take on the job?"

Katakuri stepped up, "Mama, please allow me to deal with her. There's no way she can escape me."

"Katakuri?" Big Mom looked at him, studying his face. When she saw that he was dead serious, she laughed, "You're right! Then it's settled!"

[Y/n] didn't expect Katakuri to voluntarily choose to deal with her. She thought he wouldn't bother with this stuff. Either way, Lady Luck seems to hate her. She knew Katakuri had a soft side behind that mask of his perfect demeanor but it wasn't like she could suddenly bring out his soft side to her. If she ever saw what was under that scarf, he would be blinded by anger and accidentally kill her before he could even hear her out.

Big Mom placed cuffs on her wrists that explode if she disobeyed Katakuri. Crazy, right? She didn't even know you could give certain commands to the cuffs.

One thing she noticed about Katakuri was that he never let her out of his sight. She must always be with him but of course, she was left alone when he had something important to do but he always made sure it ended quickly. But she paid no attention to it, shooking it off as him doing his job and that it was due to the loyalty he had for his mother.

Sitting across him, she could feel the hard stare Katakuri was giving her. He always had that kind of stare whether he was doing it intentionally or unintentionally. Nevertheless, it made her feel nervous as she uncomfortably shifted in her seat.

"Why did you join the Strawhat pirates?" Katakuri started.

She looked up at him, "Are you using your observation haki thing again?"

Katakuri closed his eyes before opening it again, "I asked you a question."

"I will take that as a no," She muttered. "There's no deep meaning behind it, actually. They seemed fun and interesting, that's all."

Katakuri raised his brow, "That's all?" She nodded her head.

"Then will you join our crew under my wing if I promise to make it fun and interesting? I will make sure you stay happy too," Katakuri said.

[Y/n] was puzzled. Why would Katakuri want her to join the Big Mom pirates and be under his wing at that? She tried to think of a good reason but there simply was none. Sure, she could fight but she wasn't all that strong. She wasn't special at all. So, why?

"Why would you want me on your crew? I'm not strong," [Y/n] said.

"You don't have to be strong because I will protect you," Katakuri said and he meant it. He was not joking around. He was being serious.

To [Y/n], this was weird to see Katakuri acting like that. It was out of his character. It has just been a two days since they first met and he's acting like they have known each other for years.

[Y/n] remembered something important. "Why are you asking me that when you already know the answer?" She raised her hands to show the cuffs.

Katakuri smirked behind his scarf and [Y/n] could tell because his eyes changed a bit.

Katakuri stood up from his chair and walked towards [Y/n]. She tensed up when she saw him approached her. He sat on an empty chair beside her and dragged it closer to her.

He suddenly picked her up and placed her on his lap. His hand on her thigh slowly rubbing it while the other hugged her in place.

Don't get her wrong. She loves Katakuri but being this close to him like this and having no choice but to obey him in real life was scary. He was so huge too and it didn't make it any better.

"Katakuri?" She called out nervously.

"Are you scared?" Katakuri touched her hair, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

If she were to answer him honestly, it would be a yes and a no. He looks intimidating and scary, but she knows he's actually a cutie inside. He was getting touchy with her and she honestly doesn't know how to feel about it.

In the end, [Y/n] is unable to answer at all.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you," Katakuri reassured her. "And I promise you, no one will lay a finger on you."