#a wend in the shadows

[late-to-the-fandom]

ROY G BIV Tag

Thank you @druidx for the tag, this was a new one for me! I was surprised how many I had, seeing how (intentionally) limited my universe’s colour palate is. I had over 200 uses of the word red or some synonym and exactly one of blue 😂 These are all from Wend in the Shadows.

Red

Denathrius was grinning. His entire face was contorted in an open delight the likes of which Renathal had rarely seen on the Sire’s flawless features. His red eyes wandered to the hovering servant then back to Renathal, grin widening. When he spoke again, his voice was soaked in satisfaction.

Orange - I had an Amber, gold, and bronze but no orange proper so I grabbed one of the others.

"The wardrobe," she said simply. "It's quite lovely, thank you." Her fingers traced the corset's bronze buckles and trailed into the swell of red satin skirts beneath. "Mind you, it did take two dredgers to help fasten me into it, but it’s surprisingly easy to move about in once it's on, and…" She glanced up at Renathal, violet pinpricks glowing on her cheekbones. "It's a perfect fit."

Yellow

Her bright yellow eyes flitted from the Prince to the mortal now loitering at his shoulder. Renathal could tell Nadjia was attempting to look frightened, but her features were too fixed in haughty confidence to pull off the expression well. Her words, however, sent an uncomfortable frisson of alarm down his spine. He was suddenly acutely aware of the growing numbness in his feet and fingers; the Endmire tightening its hold once again. Renathal made a subtle adjustment to his muck-covered coat. He needed to get out of here, now.

Green

The sound Renathal made had more in common with a groan than a laugh, but "Oh, a great many things," was his casual non-answer as he scanned the shelf of dark green tomes. "You might be surprised at how much exists to trouble the mind of those whose primary purpose is the execution of duty. How much must be considered, how much must be avoided. How much is," he extended his arm for a title on a shelf just over his head, "out of reach."

Blue

The theological paradox twisted his mind as the carriage rattled its way across Penance Bridge, his anxious eyes wandering over the approaching silhouettes of the Grand Palisade: tall, stately spires on black brick foundations that sank into a sheer, nearly vertical drop. Just below the bridge, the cliffside was wreathed in mist, the thin, stretched wisps painting the smooth grey stone in shades of unbroken blue.

Indigo - the colour I cannot distinguish from blue? Nope.

Violet

Elisewin trailed away, allowing a vague gesticulation to describe the anima harvesting process her nervous babble could not. Her hand accidentally brushed Renathal's leg, and she jerked it back as if burned. Even in the heavy gloom, Renathal could make out the dark violet splotches blossoming on her high cheekbones. He had an idea what they meant; imagined if he had the mortal blood required to blush his own face would look very much the same.

Tagging: @fluffleforce-mysdrym @maidenwychelm @sesshy380 @omnissian-scribe @vcaudley @residentdormouse @isabellebissonrouthier @rms-writes @frozen-fountain @sarahlizziewrites

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

[mrb1u3]

[achromatophoric]

Enid: Wends, this is my cousin, Pippa Fitz-Amobi. She’s visiting from the UK. Pip, this is my roommate, Wednesday Addams.

Pip: Wednesday, is it? From Monday’s Child?

Wednesday: *nods* How astute of you. I presume your stepfather is Nigerian?

Pip: *arches an eyebrow* Spot on.

Enid: *claps in delight* I knew it! You’re both into playing detective, so I knew you’d along like a house on fire.

Pip: *eyes Wednesday appraisingly* Lovely and clever, then. It’s a wonder Nid gets any homework done with a brutal little weapon like you around.

Enid: 😦

Wednesday: *stares back intensely* Bold words, but not inaccurate. Judging from the shadow in your eyes, you are no stranger to a touch of violence yourself.

Enid: 😧

Enid: *looks between the girls in growing alarm*

Enid: *worriedly* Are you two sizing each other up, or like checking each other out?

Pip/Wednesday: *simultaneously* Yes.

Enid: 😱‼️

[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

[respheal]

Unbroken (I'm sorry bb I'll come back to you soon)

Fallen Fae (new chapter coming this week, gods willing)

Hic Svnt Leones (is in the timeout corner while I work on FF)

Her Sword and Shield (the skeleton at the bottom of the pool)

Compass Rose (a Linkle & Four-centric sequel to UB that's haunting me with ideas)

if you're seeing this, it's your sign to reblog this with the names of all your current wips to see if you have a trend. No hate, don't be shy, don't feel pressured, i'm just curious cuz here's mine:

s&a ch20 What it is

can you stop me (Godslayer sky)

I don't know what to do

Shadow four swap

Eepy shadow

Shadow Dink revival

Pathetic Shadow, bad dink

Shadow throws ppl into DWorld

Shadow mirror

Shadow bumps into four

Shadow and Wars i guess

Shadow Master Sword

Shadow wall

I haven't had a recent fixation on anyone, i have no clue what you're talking about :D

[cassandraclare]

Those of you who get my newsletter will already have seen this but here's a snippet from the Matthew novella A Sea Change (some spoilers) — and Matthew on one of the endpapers for the novella book! Doesn't he look grownup?

 

It was a beautiful night.    The promenade deck wended its way around the entirely of the Majestic like a necklace of polished wood and brass fittings. There were few out walking like Matthew, perhaps because it was cool and windy, but Shadowhunters were used to the cold. Besides, the wind blew the clouds away, exposing a sky so full of stars it looked as if a jeweler had hastily stuffed a drawer with handfuls of loose-cut diamonds.    A year ago, Matthew would not have been able to enjoy the path the moonlight made across the water, or the sky afire with white flame. He would have been thinking about his last drink, or where he would find his next one. A frantic circle of pain and shame and longing: one he’d had to trudge invisibly, keeping his secrets from his friends, his family.    Now the weight was off him. He felt light, and sometimes strangely at rest, like a windmill on a windless night. He no longer despised himself, but he did not know his purpose, either. If, he mused, one had to have a purpose at all. Was it not enough to be a Shadowhunter — one among many, but each sworn to protect humanity against demons? To keep peace among mundanes and Downworlders — warlocks, werewolves, the Fair Folk, and vampires?    A year ago, he wasn’t sure he would have so quickly identified Miss Gwendolyn as a vampire, either. But then Matthew spent more time with Downworlders than most Shadowhunters did. Some he was friendly with, but he did not trick himself into thinking that meant they were not dangerous. And a vampire hiding out among humans was cause for concern.    He’d noted the way Gwendolyn hadn’t eaten, and had drunk sparingly of the wine. The translucence of her fingernails. Her pallor, even under a layer of makeup. The veins at her temples — if those were visible, she was hungry. And there had been the odd behavior of Orville Cole. The way he’d stared at her worshipfully. Humans often fell under the spell of vampires, finding them impossible to resist. It was not the same as a thrall relationship, where the vampire fed from the human and in return promised them eternal life, but it was a use of vampire glamour forbidden by the Accords.    Though Gwendolyn had seemed, if anything, annoyed at Cole’s attentions. Perhaps she’d enchanted him without meaning to and wished nothing more than to be rid of him. It was hard to say; Matthew did not get the sense she’d been a vampire very long.    At that moment, lost in thought, Matthew collided with something solid.     “Pardonnez-moi — oh. It’s you.” The young man from dinner, Sylvain Allard, had evolved out of the shadows. He wore a dark summer suit which blended with the night.

[comatosebunny09]

first class | sylus

summary: sylus likes to play dangerous games. today, you happen to be his rook piece. warning(s): female anatomy described, explicit language, dirty talk, bodily fluids, exhibitionism, reader's attire is described, profanity, blue balls of the female persuasion, praise kink now playing: devil's advocate - the neighbourhood notes: something i threw in @muvaginger's inbox. i'm sorry for my mind. thank you for reading, lovebugs.

Sylus, but calling you when you’ve just gotten off work.

“Are you home?” he asks, all husky on the other end. He knows you aren’t if the telltale shadow cast by a crow circling overhead is anything to go by.

“Not yet.”

“Well, get there.” Amusement resides in his voice. You have half a mind to tell him off for bossing you around like that. Like you don’t secretly enjoy it.

“Yeah, yeah. On my way.”

You hang up and shove your phone into your pocket. Put your helmet on, throwing your leg over your bike’s seat and settling on the cushion. Start it, the engine purring to life beneath you. After waving goodbye to Tara, you peel off, zipping through the energetic streets of Linkon towards your home.

Inside the lobby, your phone buzzes again. You roll your eyes, shoving your earpiece into your ear as you trudge through the lobby.

“What!” you grate out.

“Moving a little too slow there, kitten.”

If only you could punch him through the phone. You tamp down your anger, switching tactics. “What’s this about, anyway?”

He chuckles low and throaty, the sound of it prickling your brain. “Patience is a virtue.”

You scoff. “You’re one to talk.” Asshole, you add inwardly.

You catch the elevator to the floor where your apartment resides. Slide your key in, easing through the door into your entryway. Barely have time to set your keys down before a sharp rapping snaps your attention to the door.

“Open it,” Sylus orders.

Hesitant, you pivot towards it. Fingers twitch near your hip where your gun’s holstered. Slowly, you reach for the handle, mindful of your steps.

A soft laugh rings in your ear.

“Easy, sweetheart. It’s not an ambush. If I wanted to off you, I would’ve done so by now.”

“I never know with you,” you clip back, turning the doorknob.

After mentally counting to three, you throw the door open and peek outside. Silence and an empty hallway greet you. You glance left and right. Up and down the hall until a large, crimson box catches in your peripheral, seated on your doormat. You fetch it, admiring the black ribbon intricately wrapped around it.

“What’s this?” you query, kicking your door shut once you’re back inside.

“A gift.”

“Another one?”

His tone swims with nonchalance. “What can I say? I enjoy spoiling you rotten.”

You test the weight of the box. Shake it, hearing tissue paper and something heavy stir inside.

“Open it.”

You oblige. Tear the ribbon and top off, eyes curiously raking over the box’s contents. Inside is a long, black trench coat. Beneath that rests a long-sleeved, silk blouse. Deeper still lies a simple miniskirt, and you test its material between your fingers. It all looks and feels incredibly expensive despite its simplicity.

“Put it on,” Sylus instructs through the stillness.  

“What? Why?”

“Because you have a train to catch in—” A brief pause. “One hour.”

“What the fuck? A train? An hour? Sylus—”

“Time is ticking, sweetie.”

The phone clicks with his exit.

You throw the clothes onto your couch, scrutinizing them over folded arms, chewing your lip. It’s 50 degrees out. Where the hell does he think you’re going dressed like this? Does he plan to use you as bait or something?

Your phone buzzes again on your coffee table. You fetch it to see a QR code for a train ticket sitting in your inbox.

“Shit,” you hiss, scrambling for your bathroom to shower. He’s serious. There really is no time to spare.

He’d better have a good reason for being so cryptic.

—

“The second to last car,” he husks in your ear. “Meet me there in five.”

Your lips contort into a scowl. You rip your earpiece out, wending through the train’s other passengers to pursue your goal.

In the corners of your vision, the scenery outside the windows eases by. Greenery nestled beneath the snow, somewhere remote. It’s beautiful. You take time to admire the sights before finding your way to the second to last car.

The door slides shut behind you. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rumble of the train upon the tracks. The passengers here are sparse. It’s a luxury cabin, decked with armchairs, faux plants, and an expensive carpet.

You survey the area, spotting an unmistakable thatch of white nestled in the rear seat. Try to mask your giddiness as you make your way towards the back. It’s been a few days since you’ve last seen him.

Wordlessly, he motions to the seat across from him when you venture to his side, wearing that customary smirk. You plop down, folding your arms. Bite back a smile of your own, favoring a frown.

“What’s this all about?”

Sylus leans back in an easy slouch, and the way he manspreads makes your mouth water. He peers down at you from his nose, draping a long arm over the headrest of his seat. His turtleneck and coat do little to disguise the power of his body. The tendons in his neck dance. Jaw flexes. He motions to your lap with a flick of his gaze.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps.

Your eyes grow comically wide. “Excuse me?!” you hiss, mindful of your volume. Look around to ensure no one’s the wiser to your conversation. No hello. No I’ve missed you. No preamble whatsoever.

His smug look doesn’t waver. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.” There’s an underlying edge to his voice. One that doesn’t leave room for argument. Still, you contest him.

“Sylus, there are people here!”

That enraged whisper thing you do—it’s endearing.

Sylus’ eyes darken with something sinister. He hasn’t stopped watching you since the moment you sat down. Hasn’t stopped raking his eyes over your honeysuckle thighs, your hips.

“They can watch,” he drawls with an innocent shrug.

“Sylus!”

“Sweetie, I’m not asking.” Though he bears an expression of amusement, you can tell he means business. Consequences typically follow when you don’t heed him. Delicious consequences.

You swallow thickly. Sylus’ silhouette blurs as you survey the car over his shoulder. There are at least three other passengers here, all seated near the door you came through. More than enough distance between you. Your lover bleeds back into focus, his brow raised in challenge.

With a weighted sigh, you shift to make yourself more comfortable. Loosen the tie of your coat, drawing it open whilst easing your hips forward. Hesitantly spread your legs, feeling Sylus’ optics tuned to your every move. Something hot and sticky has already begun to gather in your panties, and your nipples tighten beneath the frail silk of your blouse.  

He cutely cocks his head to the side when you hesitate. Eyes narrow. “What’s wrong, sweetie,” he croons all low. You feel it coiling in your stomach. “Scared?”

You cut your eyes to him, mouth drawn into a tight line. Of course you are. You’ve never done anything like this. He’s introduced you to all kinds of things. Uncovered fantasies lurking deep in your mind. Discovered all the erogenous zones on your body you never knew you housed, but—

Exhibitionism is new. Dangerous. And somehow, the thought of it makes you wetter.

“Go on,” he soothes. Encourages, irises dipping into a mysterious shade of garnet.

Your body moves of its own volition, spellbound. Thighs part a little more, hands smoothing over plump flesh. You sigh out, leaning back as you drag your nails over the inner curve of your thighs, bunching your skirt up towards your hips. A little more enthusiastic now, teasing your swollen outer labia with the knuckles of your thumbs.

Sylus’ mouth parts slightly. His gaze flickers downward, entranced by the show and the soft hitch of your breath. He looks back into your eyes, clicking his tongue in discovery. Reaches out a sizable hand, leaning towards you with his elbows digging into the pockets of his knees.

“Panties. Take them off.”

Your tummy sparkles with heat. He quirks a brow. He’s serious. It’s not enough to touch yourself like this in public. He wants you bare and exposed, staining the armchair with your heat.

Without a word, you shimmy out of your underwear. Thin and frill as they slide down your calves, over your ankles to pool at your feet. You compliantly deposit them into his hand. A bitten-off growl brews in his chest. He falls back against his seat, stuffing your panties into his coat’s inner pocket for safekeeping. Signals for you to keep going, fully invested in this game.

You repeat the process from before. And it’s a new sensation now, the crisp air of the train car kissing your sticky pussy. You try to think of other things. Try to distract yourself from the smolder of his gaze and how it makes your body hum and your mind fill with smoke.

You think about his fingers instead of yours, stroking down the slit of your pussy. His fingers rubbing at the hood of your clitoris, drawing it back to stroke your pretty, swollen clit. His thumbs sliding over your nipples, causing your back to arch, his tongue laving at the space behind your ear…

Your hips stutter. You stifle a moan. Sylus slides in and out of focus, your vision fogging around the corners. He chuckles amorously, shifting in his seat. “Don’t stop,” he nurtures, eyes burning like a feverish flame. His dick sits heavy in his slacks, slowly hardening and twitching.

You salivate. Knowing that he’s enjoying this as much as you gradually are—fuck. You bite your lip, propping your leg on the chair’s arm. Spread nice and wide for him, your pussy on full display.

You rut against your fingers, your face screwed up in rapture. Legs quiver each time the pads of your fingers bump your messy clit. You construct a rhythm that’s maddeningly slow and torturous. Feel that sparkling rush lazily pooling between your thighs, but it’s not enough. Wanna be filled and stuffed to the brim with cum.

His cum.

A glimpse at Sylus reveals something that makes you throb. He’s touching himself. Humping into the palm of his hand, hot and weighted through the thick layers of his clothes. Fuck. You pulse.

“Syl,” you sob quietly, wetly, wantonly. “Syl, please—”

“Use your fingers,” he breathes all ragged. “Inside.” Angles his head back until it thumps against the headrest. Doesn’t look away, still rucking his hips up into the heel of his palm like the slow undulation of a wave.

You indulge, circling the pucker of your pussy with your fingers. Steadily work one inside, and you sigh, tossing your head back. Caress your tits with your free hand, plucking your nipples to their peaks as you drive your finger in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds you make as you torture yourself causes your walls to clench down.

Sylus’ voice crackles, pouring through the fizzy haze that’s settled over you.

“One more. You can take one more, can’t you, sweetie?”

You moan at how his voice oozes like warm milk and honey. You’re obedient, gradually adding another, pumping in and out. A thick ring of cream collects around your knuckles. It’s still not enough. Never enough.

“That’s my girl,” he lauds, relief in his timbre. “So good for me. So, so good.”

“Sylus,” you sob, fucking yourself a little faster. Wish it were him instead, filling you up and pumping you with the briny edge of his cum. There’s a warm fluid trickling down your leg. Heat spooling in your tummy.

He greedily ingests the sight of you fucking yourself, groaning hoarsely. You’re so close to spilling over the edge, so close to losing yourself to an orgasm. And you would—

If not for the sound of footfalls nearing your position.

“Shit!” you hiss, snapping your legs shut. Work your skirt into some semblance of neatness, throwing your coat over your legs. Your cheeks and neck are aflame, pulse pounding in your throat, pussy throbbing.

You don’t make eye contact as the gentleman passes, too busy looking at your fingers in your lap. He’s none the wiser to the goings on in your section—or, at least, he acts like he isn’t—as he bows with a small smile, slipping through the door behind. Sylus tracks his every move, and if looks could kill…

Your heart thrums heavily in your ears. You caution a glance at your boyfriend, taking in his flushed cheeks, his heaving chest. He’d thrown his coat over his lap to disguise the monster pressing against the seam of his trousers.

You lock eyes. His lips pull into a scowl as he sits up, pitching himself forward. Cants his head to one side, voice abrasive and low.

“Did I tell you to close your fucking legs?”

A thrill racks through you. It’s rare that he curses, only sullying his tongue when he’s upset or too far gone. It turns your stomach to a primordial ooze. Without warning, Sylus gathers himself up, snatching your wrist along with him.

You stumble like a baby fawn to your feet, gazing into those eyes that dwindle like liquid spilled over burning coals.

“We aren’t done here, sweetheart,” he promises with a tense jaw. Tugs you from your seat and down the aisle, all the while fishing for something in his pocket. A quick glance reveals a barcode, and a number printed in bold letters on a bit of plastic. A keycard. The sneaky little…

He peers at you over his shoulder as you both maneuver through the throng of passengers in the remaining cars, back towards the front. Your features warm with a smile. Legs tingle.

You weren’t aware that this train had sleeper cars, but you’re grateful to know it does. Your body buzzes with the prospect of what’s to come. He’s not done with you, indeed.  

hair down | masterlist | nuisance

[whoops-all-jennas]

We'll Meet Again - w.a.

Wednesday Addams x witch!reader

"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when."

"But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day."

Summary: While exploring what remains of the meeting house, Wednesday discovers that you and her were destined to meet.

a/n: I'm mostly writing this to see how I feel about an idea for a longer fic, so I guess see this as a potential preview :)

a/n+:this is now the preview for my fic Past Lives so be sure to check it out :)

Warnings: Violence, Death, Small mentions of blood

The sound of Wednesday's and your footsteps echo among the trees of the forest, the leaves having beautiful shades of yellow, red, and orange.

You both are following the instructions Tyler gave you to find the old meeting house. Well, more like you're following Wednesday, but that's what's expected.

You always followed Wednesday around like a lost puppy, but you weren't ashamed about it and Wednesday didn't seem to mind too much either.

When you both approach the building it's pretty much nothing but ruins of what it use to be, like Tyler said.

You hated him ever since what he did to Xavier, but now there's a new feeling. You can't exactly place it, but it's the strongest whenever he looks at Wednesday with that stupid look on his face.

Like she is the night sky and he is a kid fascinated by space.

You wonder if you look at Wednesday the same way, but you get brought out of your thoughts when you hear a voice.

"I expected more too." Wednesday says looking down at Thing.

"What are you doing here little girl?" A man with a scruffy white beard and layers of rough clothes appears from one of the corners.

"Use the words 'little' and 'girl' to address me again and I can't guarantee your safety."

"This is my place, get out!" The man shouts towards you both.

"Y/n a hand here." Wednesday looks at you with an expecting look on her face before you pull out your wand and point it towards his pants near his feet.

"Ignis Illusio." The pants near his shoes catch on fire, startling the man.

He jumps trying to the pat the fire out, making noises of panic while running out of the building. Ignis Illusio, or fire illusion, is a harmless charm that merely creates the illusion of a fire.

Wednesday immediately starts looking around again. "There's nothing here."

"What if you just started touching stuff? see if you can activate a vision or something?" You suggest looking around not really expecting to find much.

"My visions happen spontaneously, I don't believe that would work." You're admiring the sound of her voice before you see Thing tapping on the ground.

"I would rather dye my hair pink than ask my mother for advice." You try to hold back your smile at the idea of Wednesday with pink hair.

Thing gestures back to your idea of touching stuff in hopes of triggering a vision.

"You want me to prove it to you?"

Wednesday places her hand on a wooden beam.

"No."

She continues and places her hands on the mantle of a fireplace.

"Nothing."

She starts to approach an empty Taco Bell bag.

"Wends, I think we get it." You say as she grabs the bag, giving you a look for referring to her with a nickname.

"I bet this one will give us some insight." She holds the bag in front of her and throws her head back, pretending to have a vision, before dropping the bag to the ground. She walks past you and, like usual, you start following her again.

"My visions are as predictable as shark attacks" You hear her mutter to herself before grabbing the handle to the entrance and proceeding to throw her head back, actually entering a vision this time.

"Wednesday!" You shout before you go to catch her.

-

Wednesday's surroundings suddenly change as she stumbles to the ground. She hears people chanting phrases like "Burn her!" and "Devil spawn!"

She looks to the side and sees a crowd of people holding torches, pushing a girl around the center of said crowd.

Wednesday goes behind a barrel to watch from the shadows.

A pilgrim with a staff walks through the crowd. "Goody Addams!" He shouts, bringing everyone's attention to him, the crowd becoming quiet.

"You have been judged before God and found guilty." Wednesday looks on in curiosity, trying to remember every detail.

"You are a witch, a sorceress, Lucifer's mistress herself. For your sins, you will burn this night, and suffer the flames of eternal hellfire."

"I am innocent." Goody looks up towards Joseph as she is on the ground. "It is you, Joseph Crackstone, that should be tried."

Wednesday looks at Joseph Crackstone, now having an actual face to name.

"We were here before you, living in harmony with nature and the native folk. But you have stolen the land, slaughtered the innocent! you have robbed us of our peaceful spirit!"

Goody, hiding a blade, quietly draws it to her side where no one can see it. "You are the true monster, all of you!"

Goody quickly stands, slashing the knife to Joseph's face, blood trickling down his face. The crowd grabs Goody by her arms in shock.

"The Devil ne'er sent such a demon." Joseph exclaims, slapping Goody with the back of his hand, the crowd cheering.

"And I will send you back!" The crowd starts pushing Goody towards the meeting house, Goody struggles to escape their grasp

"No!" Goody exclaims before she is thrown into the meeting house.

Wednesday manages to sneak in before the doors are locked shut.

"Elsie!" Goody calls out while running towards a girl that looks exactly like you, rattling the chains that bind you to floor desperately.

"Goody please, listen. This is my time, but it doesn't have to be our last time seeing one and other." Elsie says desperately to Goody, grabbing her attention.

"I need a string, any string please!" Goody, without hesitation, rips at a heam in her clothes and rips it into a long string.

"Take my hand, wrap the string around our hands." Goody looks Elsie in the eyes with fear as they're interrupted.

"Set it ablaze!" is heard from outside as the sound of fire is heard and the sight on the walls. Goody looking towards where the words were coming from before being brought back by Elsie

"Hurry please! I can't imagine another life without you!" Elsie cries with desperation. Goody, without hesitation, interlocks her open hand around Elsie's, wrapping the black string around the two.

Elsie closes her eyes and is silent for a moment to focus while Goody looks at her face, not knowing what's happening.

"Haec chorda semper nos alliget." Elsie starts chanting the incantations with fear in her voice, the string is starting to illuminate a red light, brighter and brighter.

"Quantumvis implicitum vel edoctum, rursus se invicem inveniemus." Elsie finishes the incantation with a smile and tears falling down her face.

The string is the brightest it's been before it embeds itself into their skin, soon disappearing. "We will meet again I promise Goody." Elsie says with a painful, yet hopeful smile.

"It may be in a different form, or a different time, but we will meet again."

"I mustn't leave you here still" Goody desperately pulls on the chains on Elsie's wrist, she can't imagine life without her either.

"You must, avenge us Goody. You're the only one!" Elsie cries. "Go!" Goody grabs her face and their lips touch for their final kiss, tears streaming down their faces.

"I love you." Goody says with glossy eyes, pain lacing her voice, before going to the fireplace to hide under a trapdoor.

"I love you too." Elsie says to herself her final words, with the same hopeful smile, waiting for the day they'll again meet.

Wednesday feels like she's moving backwards while staying in place until everything goes black.

-

Wednesday abruptly sits up, waking up to the sound of rain.

She quickly acknowledges you over her with your wand out, casting a barrier above her acting as an umbrella.

"Y/n, I saw her! The girl from my visions." Wednesday says while looking into your eyes.

There's something new in Wednesday's eyes that weren't there before, some sort of softness.

"Her name is Goody Addams, and I believe she's my ancestor from 400 years ago." You look at her with the same softness.

"Was there anything else in the vision?" You ask before you're interrupted by a sound from outside the ruins of the meeting house.

Wednesday stands up, approaching the wall, with you behind her still providing safety from the rain.

"Must've been the man from earlier."

The eye of the monster peers through the hole. Pupil unnaturally dilated and filled with bloodlust.

You grab Wednesday by the arm, pulling her back as the monster runs away. "Come on Wednesday we have to go!" You say while grabbing her bag after Thing enters it, handing Wednesday her bag with your trembling hand.

You're both running in the rain, mud splashing with every step, covering each other's clothes. Wednesday slows down after seeing unnatural foot prints.

You follow her as she follows the prints as they turn into human ones.

"The monster's human."

Wednesday says before turning around to you as you go to grab your phone to take pictures as evidence, accidentally dropping it on the ground causing the lens to be covered in mud.

"Shit." You exclaim to yourself, trying to clean it as fast as you can. You both hear footsteps approaching.

"What the hell are you doing?" The voice of Xavier cuts through the air.

You and Xavier are friends, but things have been different since Wednesday transferred.

He looks at her the same way Tyler does and you don't like that. "I was following the monster."

"You saw it? Xavier says with a hint of fear in his voice. "Its here? Do you have a death wish or something?"

You find your way into the conversation. "And what exactly are you doing here?"

You hate accusing your friend of being a bloodthirsty monster, but him being here is just too suspicious.

"I overheard you say you're going to the old meeting house, I guess its lucky I showed up when I did."

"I did learn one thing, the monster is human. We saw the monster footprints turn into human ones." Wednesday says after you finish getting the mud off the lens of your phone as you go to take a picture of the footprints.

"Shit." You say interrupting their conversation and they both look towards you, holding your phone sideways. "The footprints are gone."

Xavier scoffs before Wednesday looks back at him. "I know what I saw." Wednesday looks disapprovingly at Xavier, realizing she doesn't need to prove him anything, so she turns around and keeps walking.

You follow her as you both leave Xavier where he is as he stands there awkwardly.

"Did you learn anything else from the vision?" You ask again, after you were interrupted last time.

Wednesday glances at you for a second, analyzing your face. "I learned Joseph Crackstone put all of the outcasts into the meeting house and burned them alive."

You look at her with slight shock, but also expected a crazy answer like that. "I can't believe this town is putting up a statue of him knowing his history." You say trying to continue the conversation, Wednesday doesn't respond.

"Was there anything else Wends?" You ask, expecting a negative reaction to referring to her with a nickname, surprised when you don't receive a disapprovingly look.

Wednesday is silent for a few seconds before glancing at you again. "No, that's all." Wednesday starts to walk a little faster.

You haven't known Wednesday long, but you are starting to learn her tells and you can tell she's lying.

You don't pry because another thing you know about her is she's stubborn, and if she doesn't want you knowing something she won't tell you.

The rain starts to slow down as you both continue walking towards Jericho, your clothes muddy and dirty from the rain.

The ceremony for Crackstone's Statue is soon, which you are not excited about after hearing his true history.

You take a look at Wednesday's face and it has a devious smile, the kind she has when she has a plan that's about to go into motion. Her walking speeds up yet again as you struggle to keep up.

a/n: hii I hope you guys enjoyed this potential preview. I'm not really at a point to say if this will get a story or not I don't know if I have the determination to write a longer fic. if I do make it, it's going to cover the entirety of s1 of Wednesday. but I guess we'll find out soonish when I finally make a decision :p

[late-to-the-fandom]

“Renathal,” she said, half-laughing, avoiding his chasing hands, “you have guests.”

“Who?”

“Tenaval and Dehavia. They’re stabling their sinrunners now.”

“Send them away.”

Elisewin’s laugh blossomed into something full and delighted. It echoed through the high-ceilinged room and unknotted the tension in Renathal’s shoulders and neck. This time when he reached for her, she did not shy away. She let herself be caught, let Renathal kiss her again, laughter and all, and her mirth had not quite faded when he next allowed her air.

“Very well,” she said breathlessly. “And what should I say is the reason you are refusing to see your allies - your friends - after demanding they report to you on such short notice?”

Renathal groaned. A petulant, put-upon sound. Elisewin was right, but he did not have to like it. He did not want to think about intrigue and espionage and anima allotments and rumours of rebellion any longer. The day had been excessively taxing, all the more so for how much of it had been spent away from her. All he wanted now was to wrap Elisewin around himself like a blanket and relax - truly relax; that total abandonment of stress and expectation he so rarely enjoyed - safe under her warmth and gentle weight, for however long they might have left.

Daily Sip 4/12

You can reblog this post.

You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[imagineaworld]

stray shadow 🗡️ azriel

summary: azriel loses a shadow, only for it to lead him straight to you

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, public place (kinda), dirty talk, swearing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.5k

Azriel seemed to have lost one of his shadows.

He had been too busy observing the crowd for potential threats to notice the shadow sneak off somewhere. After deciding there were no current threats amongst the crowd gathered in the Court of Nightmares, he slipped off in search of the stray.

Following the gentle tug that was beckoning him to the other side of the cavernous hall, he kept to the outskirts to avoid the mass of bodies talking, dancing and drinking.

As the tug grew stronger, he wondered curiously where his shadow was leading him. Had it sensed a threat that even he hadn't spotted? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible.

Eventually, he approached a small crowd loitering by the table littered with glasses and flutes of wine and champagne. His shadow was close, he could sense it. He scanned the small group, seeking the familiar darkness of his shadows.

There. He spotted it; slinked around a high-heeled ankle. His eyes trailed upwards, following the exposed bare leg, continuing up a gossamer-clad torso, a plunging neckline, a long slender neck, before settling on the face of the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

-

You hadn't noticed it at first. The soft brush had just felt like the fabric of your dress sweeping against your ankle. But when you looked down, you noticed a black shadow slowly wrapping itself around your ankle. It tickled, pulling a smile from you as you watched it wend its way up your leg, exposed through the slit in your dress.

Curiously, you reached down to touch it as it skated your thigh. In answer, it wrapped itself around your fingers. Bringing your hand closer to your face, you watched in wonder as it danced in between your fingers.

You were so distracted by the shadow that you didn't notice the owner of the shadow approach until he spoke.

-

"They seem to like you."

It was the only thing Azriel could think to say as he watched you smile at the shadow flitting around in your hand. All thoughts had left his mind, the sight rendering him speechless for a few seconds.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up. Your eyes locked onto his, amusement dancing in them. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Lose something?" You spoke, your voice like caramel.

Struck dumb, Azriel could only watch as you gently flicked his shadow in his direction, returning it to him. Reluctantly, the shadow rejoined the mass swirling around his feet. Az realised he should say something.

"I apologise for disturbing you," he managed. "I usually have them under control, but they're feeling rebellious today."

You laughed, and it was the single greatest sound he has ever heard. Azriel couldn't contain his own smile, self-consciously rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

"Should I be concerned about drawing their attention?" You inquired playfully.

Az chuckled. "No, not unless you plan on causing trouble."

Something like mischief sparked in your eyes. "Oh, I always plan on causing trouble."

Gods, save him.

You extended a hand and introduced yourself.

"Azriel." He said, his scarred hand clasping yours as he suppressed his disgust at marring you with his touch.

You repeated his name, just a murmur, but loud enough for him to hear. Perhaps he had been wrong, it was not your laugh that was the greatest sound he had ever heard, but the sound of his name of your lips.

-

You weren't quite sure how you were playing it so cool. The male standing before you was quite simply the most handsome male you had ever seen. Talking to males never normally intimidated you, but you felt the need to leave a lasting impression on this one.

Just the touch of his hand on yours had sent tingles down your spine. The feeling was unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome. It was safe to say, for the first time in your life, you were out of your depth.

The musicians began playing a tune that had hoards of people flocking to the dance floor.

"Well, Azriel," you began, holding out your hand. "Do you or your shadows dance?"

Wordlessly, with a glint in his eyes, Azriel took your hand and led you out into the crowd of couples on the dance floor.

Az took the lead in the dance with a newfound confidence. You placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscles beneath his jacket. His large hand on your waist felt equally as strong, but he held you at a respectable distance.

As if unhappy with the distance between you, his shadows reached for you. They pulled you in closer, wrapping round the two of you as you moved gracefully on the dance floor.

You huffed a laugh, your breasts now flush against Azriel's broad chest. "They're definitely rebellious."

Az only grunted in response, as though words were beyond him.

Looking up at him as he towered over you, you bit your lip, anxious that your closeness had made him uncomfortable.

He was already looking down at you when your eyes met his, dark with lust. "Don't look at me like that." He ground out.

"Why not?" You challenged, your own newfound confidence coming through at the realisation he was growing hard beneath you as your bodies pressed together.

He growled lowly. "Drives me crazy."

His gravelly voice went straight to your core, and as his eyes darkened further, you knew he could scent your arousal. Refusing to blush, you held his gaze and he inhaled, a restrained groan building in his throat.

"You smell divine."

You bit your lip again. "Why don't you find out how I taste?"

You refused to break Azriel's gaze, which had turned feral at your words. In that gaze, you could see an internal battle between desire and logic. 

"Offer's on the table," you told him. "No strings."

Azriel whirled around, leading you by your joint hands to the nearest exit. Once outside the hall, your heels clicked on the stone as he led you down a handful of dim corridors. He stopped beside an alcove, pushing you in with his body. The alcove was just big enough for the two of you, his shadows blocking you from sight of any stray passers-by.  

Not wasting any time, Az connected his mouth to yours in the most sensous kiss you had ever experienced. You leaned into the kiss and tangled your fingers into Azriel's hair, drawing a low groan from the back of his throat.

He trailed kisses from your mouth down your neck, sucking and nipping with his teeth. You let out a breathy moan as his teeth grazed over your nipple, the fabric of your dress pushed aside.

Through the slit in your dress, Azriel stroked your thigh, higher and higher until he reached where your underwear should have been.

"No panties?" He growled. "You really are looking for trouble."

His fingers toyed with your pussy, gathering up the slick before sliding one finger inside.

"Azriel." You breathed, the sensation overwhelming you.

He moved his finger in and out of you, curling it just right as he added another. 

"Feel so good round my fingers, baby," he praised, watching as you started to unravel. "Let's find out how you taste."

He dropped to his knees before you, gathering the fabric of your dress and bunching it round your hips. The scent of your arousal and the feeling of your slick had hardened his cock beneath his trousers. He licked a long, slow line along your pussy, teasing you.

"Please," you begged.

"So needy," he taunted. You could hear the smugness in his voice. Putting you out of your misery, he pressed his mouth to your pussy. Like a man starved, he licked, sucked, nipped at you, all the while sliding his fingers in and out.

You moaned his name, fingers tugging at strands of his hair. He growled at the sensation, which reverberated against your clit. You felt your release building.

"Fuck, you taste so good," his voice full of lust. "You gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Fuck, don't stop."

Obliging, he picked up the pace of his fingers, and focused his mouth on your clit. Your moans were obcene as you came, his name spilling out of you for all to hear. Azriel only slowed his pace once your pussy had stopped clenching round his fingers.

He looked up at you with a devilish grin, lips wet with your slick. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out of you, raising them to his lips taste you again. 

He raised up to his full height, towering over you. His hair a tussled mess, his eyes still dark with lust. "Until next time," he said, and vanished off, taking his shadows with him.

The sound of you moaning his name, the taste of you on his tongue, they lingered for hours. He thought about it - about you for the rest of the evening. Later that night, he fucked his fist and came at the thought of you.

[late-to-the-fandom]

Last Line Tag

Thank you @dru-plays-starbound for the tag! I actually got off my ass (metaphorically, I am still 100% bed bound right now) and wrote for over an hour today! 10/10 feeling, highly recommend. I stopped at line below and am actually excited to pick up again later!

“Oh, I offer as many punishments as pleasures," purred the Countess. "If it is suffering she deserves, that can most certainly be arranged."

Tagging: @pluttskutt @worldstogetlostin @oh-no-another-idea @shaycreates @halfbit @maidenwychelm @27fanficlilies @blind-the-winds @squarebracket-trick @sesshy380

[fanfoolishness]

Isatunoll Long-Remembered

Lyrium has always held memory and music. What does a lyrium dagger recall throughout the ages?

(Yes, this is lyrium dagger POV, a fairy-tale perspective on Titans, dwarves, the doings of the Evanuris, and the events of Veilguard. Spoilers for all of Dragon Age, ~1000 words. Thanks to @terioncalling for the encouragement!)

---

There was a time before there was time, when all was whole and sung within a thousand thousand throats. Blood carried the Song of the Stone through beat and breath, and there was harmony resounded, echoing through the firmament and the very bones of the world. Isatunoll.

Then came wounds, bitter and jagged, leeching the blood into soil and spirit. A Faded world of shimmering spirits sent invaders in their ignorance. There were battles that heaved the mountains down, that ruptured the very earth, that caused fire and flood and pain. The pain reverberated through the Song, sour and foul, a discord shivering through the blood.

The stolen blood had other uses than weaving an entire people’s dreams. Once spilled it could create new bodies — or end those that it had raised and nourished. A spirit once Wisdom, now Pride, folded blood upon itself in layers shimmering and bright, until a blade was forged that sang with dreadful purpose.

The blade could sever.

The blade could sunder.

And Pride’s cruelty echoed through the firmament and the very bones of the world.

-

The blade was not alive. But nor was it dead. It was something unto itself, a mirror of what had come before, a prism to refract the future. Or to create it.

Pride was not its only master. Tyranny bore it for a time, casting Retribution -- before Benevolence -- into splintered shadow. The blade sang anew, echoing with the scattered refrain of the spirit’s shards, until Pride reclaimed his own and drew forth the fragments in his sorrow.

The blade hung at Pride’s side as an anchor, the great sundering of the Titans, the ending of Retribution, remembered in a faint and voiceless song. It did not let him forget. The weight of it would have destroyed a lesser spirit.

But Pride was one of the old dreamers of the world beyond, and his will was mighty, enough to fill his ears and heart with a music of his own that drowned out the silent screaming of the Titans. Vengeance came upon him, and he devised a plan to bring it forth.

The dagger sang again, binding a new world where all was shadowed and the voices of the world beyond made faint. It sent Pride to his knees, the dagger clattering beside him. 

The screams of Pride’s own people carried not the ancient melody of the Song, but it was a chorus still remembered.

-

Darkness twisted what once was pure and singing, and the blade roiled with the poisoned music of the Blight. It gleamed red in the shadowed halls, a perversion of what had come before.

It sang to a Child of the Titans in the wending deep, its music choked with retribution, with sundered dreams, with the follies of the proud. The Child listened with his heart unguarded, and the voices wove within his mind a song that could not be denied.

-

A city cast in ruins, smoke heavy on the air, stone broken like a Titan’s mind. The blade whined and hummed in its corruption, rippling in a prison of pulsing red. 

It slumbered in this frozen form until mortal hands freed it once again, until it traveled under guard and spell. Great magic wove within it and without. At last the red corruption was destroyed and anew it breathed in purest blue.

It recognized the hand that held the now-cleansed blade. Pride was not so easily evaded.

-

Ah.

There, familiar, the Song! Carried still in Child’s blood, if faint and near-forgotten: the ancient music, oneness, isatunoll! 

The dagger drank deeply of its own lifeblood, but the Child of the Stone was only mortal, and he could not bear the blade.

No matter; an echo still would linger, as of Retribution, as of sleeping Titans. The blade hummed, waiting to discharge its gifts, to remind the Children who they long ago had been.

-

A filthy hand upon the blade, marred and soulless. Mercifully the carrying was brief. 

The next hand, small and strong and reaching —

ISATUNOLL!

The dwarven blood unleashed, the song resounding, unlocking, reweaving — remembering —

Another hand upon the blade, but the music slowly faded, a silent song once more.

-

Resonance. Like met like, the amplitude increasing, the effect doubling, trebling. Pride’s touch on his enemy was light and masterful, deft weaving of remembrance. It sang in harmony with the fragment in the blade, a Child wise in his own way, an admixture that seemed real as real to one that would behold it.

-

The assassin’s hand hid a tremor, a rupture nearly imperceptible. A note soured in the distilled music of the blade. The demon the assassin carried twisted, straining, in its bonds of flesh.

The blow did not strike true.

-

God-blood now twice-stolen, draining from the wielder of the flesh, flowing into ancient soil like the sweetest rain. What was stolen, now reclaimed, fragments of the Titan-stone anointed in her blood  —

The blade flashed beneath a shrouded sun. Pride and his games again!

-

The enemy of an enemy was not a friend, but perhaps an ally. The blade danced between them, gifted freely.

Until bright and blighted Tyranny fell from his lofty throne, and the Veil shivered, shredded, ached to open.

Strange words, a tuneless verse that yet held meaning, many voices in the fray, fragments of Retribution and Benevolence. Pride’s tears fell upon the blade, no magic in them but what made them fall. His blood on the blade’s edge tasted of regret upon regret, a chorus all its own.

Pride’s hands trembled, the weight too much at last. In his blood a hint of Wisdom stirred and struggled. 

His enemy’s hands were merely mortal, but they were strong and certain, cradling the blade.

Blood and blade and bound again, the Veil renewed, the sundered dreams a soft motif instead of crushing melody. Like this, the blade could find a peace.  Like this, the blade could slumber.

Until someday the Titan-song was sung again, until the blade was at last unmade, until it could rejoin the Song in blood and blue.

Isatunoll.

[foxaftershocks]

Hello, if you still take prompts for Lars: I think it would be extremely funny if he and the reader are pining after each other so bad, even the ghosts in the lab are annoyed and try to play matchmaker for them.

In any case I love your writing have a nice day :)

This took a while but I hope it was still worth waiting for.

Your mouth was hanging open. Hidden in the shadows of the enclosures, you could watch without being seen. Lars was in the main area, the light highlighting his blond hair and pale skin. You watched as he stretched, arms above his head, spine straightening. Your breath caught in your chest, a flush of warmth going through your body.

He was entirely too tempting for your own good.

Something tapped on the glass beside you. Looking down, the handle of a mop twitched and you sighed.

“I know,” you sighed to the possessor.

It tapped on the glass again.

“I’m not doing that,” you said.

It tapped more insistently against the glass.

“Everything alright over there?” Lars called.

You froze for a moment, grimacing down at the possessor. The traitor began banging on the glass again, louder and louder.

“Yeah, I think so,” you called back, hoping to keep him away long enough for you to get it to shut up.

“You sure?”

Great, he was right there.

“The possessor is trying to make a point,” you said, “it’s not working.”

That last part was directed to the mop waiting in the window. It slammed against the glass, more aggressive than the previous teasing. You shrieked, jumping backwards, not expecting it. Warm hands landed on your hips, holding you steady.

You were slow to turn your head, looking up into worried eyes. His head had bowed towards yours, close enough that you could feel his breath stir your hair. You stilled a moment, feeling his warmth seep into you, wondering if you it would be such a bad thing to lean forward and press your lips to his.

You jerked away from him, taking a deep breath in. He took a step back, averting his gaze, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You levelled a glare at the mop before turning tail and fleeing back to your station. You had plenty of work to get one with. That was all. It wasn’t because Lars had been close enough to taste. Not that he wanted you to try anyway. So it all worked out for the best.

It wasn’t until a few days later that you found a Stay Puft wandering around your desk. With a sigh, you offered your palm to it, letting it climb aboard to carry it back to its enclosure. It nipped at your finger and you cursed, pinching its body between your thumb and forefinger and lifting it.

“You’ve had an escape,” you said, passing by Lars’ desk.

“Prison break season already?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“That or this one’s gone rogue,” you replied.

Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention as it nipped at your finger again. You yelped, dropping it as a drop of blood bloomed on your skin. You sucked it into your mouth, the sting quick to disappear.

“Bitch,” you muttered, already following it.

Lars was hot on your heels, wending through the desks and the mess from all the research going on. You didn’t take notice of where you were going, rushing after the small marshmallow body as it sprinted through the lab. Rushing through the door it had slipped through you didn’t realise your mistake until you heard it slam shut behind you.

“Fuck,” you said, turning around only to run face first into Lars’ chest.

His hands came up, clasping your waist with a strong hold, keeping you from reeling back and landing on your ass. You froze, the feeling of his body enough to make your thoughts spin. The room was dark and you couldn’t quite make out his expression.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, trying to take a step back.

Your back hit something hard, digging into your spine and you realised exactly where you were. Cursing again, you tried to reach around him for the door. All you managed to do was bring your body against his, arm curled around him as if in an embrace, the doorknob not turning.

“Uh…” was all Lars managed to say.

“We’re locked in,” you said.

Which was about when you realised your face was practically buried in his chest. You jerked back only for your head to hit the shelf behind you.

“Oh,” Lars said.

His hands came up, cradling the back of your head, fingers pressing in. You winced when he found the bruise and he muttered an apology. His fingers began to gently massage the base of your skull, a soft sigh coming from between your parted lips.

“I think you’ll live,” he said, voice whisper soft.

You looked up into his face, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. He was so close, practically surrounding you in the small space. His scent of soap and coffee wrapped around you, invading your very senses. His warmth was washing over you, inescapable in the small closet. You couldn’t hide the way your breath came out as a stutter, caught within the cage of his arms.

“Shouldn’t we try and get out?” you asked.

“Didn’t you say the door was locked?” he replied.

“I could have been wrong.”

His fingers slipped from your hair as he turned to try to the doorknob again. It rattled in his hand but wouldn’t turn. You sighed again, this time from frustration rather from the feeling of Lars’ touch.

“Have we seriously been outsmarted by the Stay Pufts?” you grumbled, “this is a new low.”

“I’m sure it’s just a matter of getting the angle right,” he said, still rattling the doorknob.

“We’re never going to live this down. We’ll be the laughing stock of the lab. Everyone’s only just gotten over the yoghurt thing and now this. I think I’m the least cool person in this lab. And that’s saying something. Barry is middle aged and balding. But at least he plays the saxophone. What have I got? A sad tiny flat and no social life to speak of. I’m so uncool.” You knew you were rambling and yet you couldn’t stop the word from tumbling from your lips.

“You’re not uncool,” Lars said, interrupting your flow, “I think you’re the coolest one here.”

“In this closet? Because I think that means you have some self esteem issues,” you replied.

“I think you’re the coolest person in the lab,” he said, “definitely cooler than Barry. Have you seen that guy at a party? No shirt, just a tie on, playing the sax on top of a table. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

“Yeah but he’s never been outsmarted by the Stay Pufts,” you said, fingers twisting together.

“And neither have we,” he said, shoulder slamming against the door. It rattled in its frame but didn’t open, “okay, maybe we have been but we can get out of this.”

“At what point do we just start shouting for help?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

His hands on your hips burnt through your clothes, and you barely noticed he was switching your positions, leaving you with your back to the door and him able to look through the contents of the tiny closet you were stuck in. You pressed back against it, trying to give him as much room as possible. His hands were moving through the dark, using touch more than his eyes to figure out what you had.

“How’re your lock picking skills?” he asked.

“About average for someone who has never done it before,” you replied, “besides, I can’t actually feel a lock on this door.”

“You can’t?”

He turned back to you, hand reaching out to try and feel the doorknob. His searching fingers found yours, skin against burning skin. Your head was slow as it turned up to his face, finding him already looking down at you. You felt your lips part, always so caught up in him whenever he got close enough to touch.

“I’m beginning to think this mischief might have been planned,” he said, voice whisper soft.

“They’re working against us?” you asked.

“Not just them. They’re not smart enough on their own. Someone else has mobilised them,” he replied, “my money is on Bonesy. He’s the brains of the operation.”

“To what end?”

Lars shifted on his feet, eyes darting away from you. Clearly he had more information than you did, a theory already planted in his mind. He was looking down where your fingers were still touching, his tapping tapping out a rhythm against yours. If he didn’t stop you thought your knees might buckle. And yet you couldn’t muster the strength to pull away.

“What aren’t you telling me?” you asked, breathless and needy.

He mumbled something, words you should have been able to hear so close together and yet it was a jumble. Tripping over themselves, the words were unintelligible. And worse of all he still wasn’t looking at you.

“What was that?” you asked.

“The ghosts might have picked up on some underlying feelings,” he muttered.

“Underlying feelings?” Oh god, he knew.

“They might have realised something about… us,” he said.

“Anything they think they know about us is wrong,” you said, now the one tripping over your words in an effort to get them out fast enough to cover your own ass.

“It is?” His eyebrows drew together.

“Totally,” you said, nodding your head.

“What do you think they know about us?” he asked, “because I thought we were talking about my feelings for you.”

“Your… your feelings for me?” You’d lost the thread of the conversation already.

“Yes. Look, the ghosts might have realised that I might have some romantic feelings towards you and this might be their version of forcing me to say something instead of staring at you from across the lab all day,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, “I thought we were talking about…”

“About?”

“About the ghosts picking up on my romantic feelings for you and this being about them making me do something about it instead of just fantasising about you,” you said.

“Oh,” he said, “and those fantasies…?”

“Aren’t appropriate for work,” you replied, feeling your cheeks heat again.

“I like the sound of that,” he said, lips pulling up at the corner, lopsided and endearing.

“So you like me?” you asked, needing to hear it confirmed.

“I thought you were clever enough to keep up, love. Maybe I was wrong,” he said.

“No need to be an ass,” you laughed, “I might not kiss you if you are.”

“Kissing is on the table?” He sounded so excited about the concept.

“Now who isn’t clever enough to keep up?”

He lent down, lingering close enough for his breath to ghost over your lips. The soft whine from you only seemed to make him press closer. And yet, when he kissed you it was soft and sweet, the kind of kiss at the end of a romantic movie as the music swelled and the happy ending was secured. You sighed into his mouth, arms curling around his neck as you pushed your body against his.

His hands grasped your hips, pushing you against the door behind you. You couldn’t stop, tongue sweeping into his mouth, kissing him deeper as he groaned. It was better than you’d ever dreamed, the fantasy no comparison to the reality. Heat was rushing through your veins and you clutched him tighter. The way he kept you pinned against the door suggested you weren’t the only one feeling the need to tear off each other’s clothes.

The surface you were leaning on tilted back and you fell, a shriek coming from you. Strong arms caught you around the waist, hauling you up against Lars’ chest. Adrenaline and desire were a heady mix, and as you tried to catch your breath, you found his twinkling blue eyes sweeping over you as lips ticked up into a smirk.

“Falling for me already, are you?” he asked, barely containing a laugh.

“Shut up.”

With both hands on his chest, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, turning to look at the door swinging open behind you. His arm curled around your waist, as if not able to stop touching you. A smushed Stay Puft was leaking from the doorjamb. You wrinkled your nose, edging past it back into the real world.

“Looks like I was right,” Lars said, “they conspired against us.”

“With us, Lars,” you corrected.

“Right, with us.”

His hands tightened on you and you had to wonder if he was ever going to let you go. You weren’t sure you wanted him to. You hadn’t considered Lars as being handsy, and yet you weren’t disappointed to find out he was.

Walking past the possessor, his arm slung over your shoulder, tucked into his side, the chair tapped against the window, perky and excited. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, alright, you can stop now,” you said to it.

“Butt out of our personal lives,” Lars said.

He led you back into the main part of the lab as you chuckled.

“Although they did help. You weren’t going to say anything without them,” you said.

“Neither were you,” he objected.

“Then we were lucky they did step in,” you said, pushing up onto your toes to leave a lingering kiss on his lips.

He hummed in agreement, catching you around the waist before you could slip away, pulling you back for a longer kiss before releasing you. Yes, definitely too tempting.

[verysmallcyborg]

Roevember Day 27: Soul

Blessed shadow Turning, wending, always night follows day The sun will shine again Walk on, never look back Through you, we live Tales of loss and fire and faith

We are shards of the same Azem, you and I, love. We know this tale of ours from our adventure, that our souls are so deeply intertwined; we are a union of hearts. I'll be with you - as your shadow - every step of the way, for you are the sun that is guiding, lighting the way.

Forge ahead till the end, I pray.

roevember prompt list ryssrael is @oneiroy's

[atypicalacademic]

I love playing Orlesian Wardens really, in a worldstate where the HoF is dead, you're always in their shadow. You arrive in this country a stranger, barely even welcome. It looms over you at Vigils Keep. Oghren has an inside joke about the year of blight and his friend isnt beside him to laugh with him. Nathaniel comes to the Keep and his father is but a name to you. Wynne stands in front of Amaranthine's chantry, looking as though she was waiting for someone else.

There's no letters at the start, and every little callback to the blight year is a reminder of someone you've never known. You're trained for a work that is thankless, you know.

It's not for you, this love and adulation. You aren't the saviour. You aren't the friend they lost. When will they stop looking at you and wondering what a Commander that Hero would have made?

You bury Blackmarsh and bring Kal'hirol home. You guard the Wending Wood. You make peace on the streets and fight battles that have nothing to do with darkspawn. You mine granite and seal fissures beneath the ground. You try. A dozen odd Fereldans come to think you're alright. Some even ask, if you're alright. This place is a far cry from Val Chevin, but you come to call it home.

When the Keep you built stands strong, when Amaranthine grows to care for you, when Sigrun smiles and says she'd rather spend the afterlife fighting by your side, when Oghren tells you the old war buddy would've liked you like there is no greater compliment, you will be content as an afterthought to a legend past its prime, an epilogue to another. Someone had to do it. Someone had to clean up. Someone had to rebuild. And someone had to leave. When the time comes, you will Join them.

[usiel21]

There will come a day where the stalker or someone will kidnap Enid in order to use her against Wednesday. He or she will be filled with such confidence about their plan, but Enid will hold a smug sadness, saying that Wednesday won't come for her, Wednesday won't fall for such an obvious trap even if she was worth saving which she isn't. Enid, having come to terms with the fact she was in love with her best friend, that she came to terms with the fact that Wednesday would never feel the same, that she would pine and worship Wednesday from within the shadows for the rest of her life. Enid, believing that no-one would come for her, not Wednesday, not her family, because she thinks she's not worth it. But she's glad because Wednesday would stay safe even if it meant it cost her life once her usefulness was null and void. Until the ground started to shake and a rumbling seems to engulf the cabin. Enid looks up as the darkness seems to create a shockwave that consistently shakes the walls and the very foundations of the cabin "What in the fuck" He mumbles to himself, Enid hears the something being slapped into something else, a clicking sound and snap, Enid realises that the man has just loaded a weapon and primed it. The windows start to rattle as specks of black start to black out the windows, the mass seeming to sift and creep and Enid realises what she's looking at. Bees.

Millions upon millions of Bees. Suddenly the door to the cabin shakes in the frame as something rattles it. Something heavy. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. The man unloads several rounds into the door. Each shot causing Enid to flinch and shake, smoke pours from the end of the barrel, the last shell casing having clattered to the floor. There was sudden silence. Save for the buzzing of the bee's surrounding the cabin. The door is suddenly blown apart causing Enid to shriek and turn her head away as splinters of wood fly in all directions. Smoke dances and prances in the dim light until a shadow steps through, her face aflame with an icy fury. "You dare to take what belongs to me. I will make you beg for mercy in death" Wednesday says coldly, except Enid gapes at her, Wednesday is adorned from head to toe in black armour, a sword clasped in her right hand, a small dagger in the left.

But there upon one of the pauldron's is a small insignia, the head of a howling wolf. White in colour, except for two streaks of blue and pink atop the wolf's head. "Wends..." Enid whimpers softly.

"You think I didn't come prepared Addams?" The Man hissed. "You people are stupidly impervious to damage, except for this" The Man says pressing the barrel of the gun to the side of Enid's head. "I heard that the pain of losing the love of your life is enough to make you Addams' die from a broken heart." The man grins maliciously. "I'm curious to find out!"

Wednesday raises the sword and points it at the man. "Enid's life is the only thing stopping me from ripping you apart. The pain of losing the woman I love will destroy me, but I'll have enough will left to avenge her upon your corpse" Wednesday threatened darkly. "Wends..." Enid whispers almost silently "...you love me?" Her eyes pleading, desperate, shimmering with tears. "You overtook my soul with yours Enid, you conquered every corner of darkness with the light you bring, how... how could i not?"

Enid let the tears fall, because Wednesday was here for her. Wednesday had really come for her but as her assailant and Wednesday stared each other down more shadows moved behind her, Wednesday stepped to the side to clear her view and she saw the entirety of Wednesday's family behind her, their faces thunderous, Yoko, Divina, Ajax, Eugene, and half of Nevermore seemed to be outside.

And she realised that she was loved and cherished, so much so that Wednesday call in every favour she ever had to mobilize a small army. Gomez Addams stepped up behind his daughter, his own sabre raised, as he backed up his eldest, the look upon his face sent genuine fear down Enid's spine, his face dark, monstrous. "You stole our wolf from the Addams clan" Gomez uttered darkly, As Morticia gracefully came up to her husbands side. "And for that there shall be no mercy for you for she has our little stormcloud's heart, ensnaring all our hearts with her colourfully sharp claws!" "She is family" Morticia said proudly "And we protect our family." She said as her eyes turned black. Sweat began to pour from the man's forehead, his composure gone and doubt began to gnaw at him, the gun came away from Enid's temple to point directly at Wednesday who darted forwards, her sword flashing, and his arm, still clutching the pistol, hit the floor with a thud.

But Enid paid no heed to this, only when Wednesday flew to her side, her hands more gentle that she thought possible as Wednesday checked over her carefully, face laced with concern. Her hands became loose and Enid's first act was to launch forwards, ensnaring Wednesday in her arms, her scent a comfort, her touch a relief, her love a salvation.

Enid, inconsolable with both sadness and elation, with the knowledge she was now truly loved, that she had a family, that she had Wednesday, who held her tight lest she slip from her fingers again.

Enid, finally felt loved.