#accidentally tagged this as shadows for some reason

[sunni-stuff]

You, the butchers daughter, end up stalking your father's new hire.

The first time you see him, he’s hauling a side of beef off the truck like it weighs nothing, muscles taut beneath his apron. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, veins running thick down his forearms as he grips the meat hook. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing strong arms marred with faded scars—some thin and clean, others jagged, stories you’ll never hear. His hands, wrapped in black gloves, are steady as he works, but you wonder what they’d feel like bare.

Then there’s the mask. Black, snug, covering everything from the bridge of his nose down, leaving only his sharp, calculating eyes visible. Dark and unreadable, they barely glance your way. You’ve tried to catch him slipping, maybe when he wipes sweat from his forehead or adjusts the apron strings that crisscross his powerful back, but he’s careful—never lets you see too much.

The tattoos peek out beneath his sleeves and creep along his collarbones where his shirt dips. Flames coil around his wrists, swallowing skulls with hollow eyes. A soldier, masked like him, grips a rifle among the chaos. A bomb mid-fall, grinning shark teeth, dog tags suspended in ink—each piece a fragment of something unspoken. You’ve glimpsed ink curling over the tendons of his neck, bold lines, and intricate designs that hint at a past you aren’t meant to know. It’s all war, death, and destruction, an unspoken story carved into his flesh. When he moves, the shadows shift over the ink, making it seem alive. You want to ask, to pry, but he’s as unreadable as the art on his skin

He doesn’t talk much, just nods when your father gives orders. The others joke around, laugh, make noise—but he’s silent, methodical, unsettling in the way he moves like he’s done this before. Like butchering meat is nothing new to him.

But what frustrates you the most? He never looks at you for more than a second. Never lingers, never smirks, never acknowledges the way you watch him. As if you’re invisible. And that, more than anything, makes you want to figure him out.

At first, it was just curiosity. No man had ever outright ignored you before—not when you batted your lashes, not when you "accidentally" brushed too close, not when you lingered just a little too long in his space.

But him? He barely acknowledged you. A nod if you were lucky. A grunt if you spoke directly to him. Most of the time, he just kept working, muscles flexing under his apron, strong hands wielding a cleaver with practiced ease.

The others—your father’s old hands, the regulars who came in for their weekly cuts—would’ve tripped over their feet to get your attention. They always had. You were used to the lingering stares, the awkward compliments, the way men fumbled through conversations just to keep you talking. So why didn't he?

It was maddening.

So, you did what any sane young woman would do.

You prodded. You poked. You tested.

You stood too close, pretending to inspect the marbled meat he was slicing, only for him to shift away without a word. You asked him pointless questions, just to hear his voice—low, rough, with an accent you couldn’t quite place—only for him to answer in as few words as possible before returning to work.

It became a game. You knocked things over in his path just to see if he’d catch them (he always did). You “forgot” something near his station just to have a reason to come back. You even tried teasing, playfully calling him mystery man under your breath.

Nothing.

Not a flinch, not a smirk, not even a flicker of amusement.

That should have been the end of it.

But then you started watching. Not just at work—no, you started watching him.

The way he left every night at the same time. The way he took the same route, never straying, never rushing. The way his head tilted slightly whenever he passed certain corners, as if he was listening.

It fascinated you. And when fascination turns to obsession, well…

That’s when you started following him.

You followed him—never too far, never too close—always careful, watching him move through the streets with an air of confidence that seemed to thrive in the quiet of the night. For weeks, this had become a routine, one that started innocently enough. Just a few blocks at first, just enough to ensure that he was who you thought he was. But over time, the habit deepened. Each night, you followed him further, until it became something you couldn’t help but do.

Yet, despite your best efforts, he never made any stops, never took any detours. He just kept walking, heading toward some destination that only he knew. And every time you reached the point where you would turn around, you still didn’t have any answers—no clue what he was up to or where he was going. Just that he moved through the night like someone who belonged there. Unfazed, untouchable.

Then one night, the weather turned.

The rain hit hard, cold droplets splattering against your skin, soaking through your jacket in seconds. You’d stopped for a split second—just long enough to get the damn zipper up, to pull the hood over your head—but in that moment, he'd vanished.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you cursed under your breath, glancing quickly down the wet street, searching for the familiar outline of his tall frame. But there was nothing. No sign of him.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, your voice drowned out by the downpour. You couldn’t let him slip away. Not now, not after all this time.

You started to jog, your boots splashing in the puddles as your eyes darted left and right, scanning the alleyways and storefronts. Your breath came faster as you pushed yourself harder, frustration building. You weren’t going to lose him now.

Then, suddenly, your body was jerked backward, your breath caught in your throat as a strong hand pressed over your mouth. The air around you was thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and something darker, something more familiar.

Before you could even react, you were shoved hard against the cold brick of an alleyway wall, your back colliding with the rough surface, your head snapping back slightly from the impact. Your pulse spiked in your ears as panic started to claw at your chest, but the firm grip on your mouth held you silent, still.

For a second, everything went still. The rain beat against your jacket, heavy and relentless, but there was no sound, no movement—just the suffocating pressure of his hand over your mouth and the close proximity of his body.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer strength of his presence as if the space between you was no longer your own. The tension in his arm, holding you against the wall, was undeniable. He was in control.

Your heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the frustration, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the urge to finally break the silence between you. You had followed him, hunted him, and now here he was—this close. The tension was suffocating, and you couldn’t decide if you were going to scream or say something sharp.

But before you could gather your thoughts, his voice broke through the storm. Low, smooth, with an edge of something dark. “Thought you’d lost me, didn’t you?” His words came muffled through the mask, but the tone was unmistakable.

He didn’t seem in a rush, like he knew you were trapped in the moment. You didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there, or how he’d managed to close the distance between you so quickly. The rain drummed relentlessly on the alley’s pavement, but his eyes, those sharp, dark eyes, never wavered from you.

“Can’t say I’m impressed by your little game,” he murmured, fingers brushing against your cheek in a movement so deliberate it made your breath catch. “You follow me for weeks, but never thought of what might happen when you get too close.”

“Were you hoping to catch me doing something interesting?" he asked, his breath a warm tickle on your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a calmness in his voice, like he was in complete command, and the way his body molded against yours told you he was used to people being in positions like this.

“I…” You swallowed, struggling to free your voice. “I wanted to see if you’d… notice me.” You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Why had you been following him? What had you hoped to find? You were just a silly girl who wanted the attention of a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

Simon’s laugh was low, almost quiet, but it carried a weight to it that you didn’t expect. It was rich with amusement, deep and rough, and it rumbled against the tension hanging between you both. The sudden sound caught you off guard, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of it.

For a moment, you were frozen, not sure whether to be annoyed or confused. Had you just made a fool of yourself in front of him? Why was he laughing?

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves, but it didn’t work. His laughter still echoed in your head, and your voice came out shaky. "W-what’s so funny?"

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, you could feel him shift slightly, his hand easing off your wrist but still close enough to make you aware of the power he held. Simon took a breath, the rain still pouring around you both, but his presence was like a shield, solid and immovable.

"You," he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the amusement was still there, like a shadow in his tone. "You think I didn’t notice you? You’ve been practically waving a flag." His fingers brushed lightly over your wrist, tracing the spot where he’d gripped you, his touch soft now, almost teasing.

"I wasn’t… I wasn’t obvious," you managed to protest, though it came out weaker than you’d like. You could feel your cheeks heating, your frustration mixing with something else you weren’t ready to admit.

"All this time, and you still think I didn’t know?" He shook his head, though you couldn't see his face behind that damn mask. “Sweetheart, you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy, and I was just waiting to see when you'd finally stop pretending.”

For a moment, you stood there, silence pressing in between you both, broken only by the sound of the rain pelting the alley around you. Simon’s words lingered, his laugh still echoing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were frustrated or flustered or both, but you knew one thing for sure—he had misunderstood what you asked.

Finally, you spoke, your voice clear despite the uncertainty brewing inside you. “That’s not what I meant,” you muttered, taking a step back, shaking your head. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to ask, needed to get to the bottom of it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” you asked bluntly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, his gaze still sharp but unbothered. “No,” he replied simply.

That answer made something inside you tighten, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint why. But you weren’t done. You shifted your weight, suddenly daring to ask the next question, the one you knew would make him uncomfortable. “Do you find me attractive?”

His eyes flickered for a split second, the usual guarded look breaking, but he nodded, his voice low. “Yes.”

The answer hung in the air like a challenge. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, trying to connect the dots between what he said and what he did. “So why,” you demanded, “don’t you ever look at me? In the shop, I mean. Why don’t you notice me like the other guys do? They stare, flirt, and… well, pay attention.”

For the first time since you’d started this strange back-and-forth, Simon looked genuinely confused. He stepped back slightly, brows furrowing as he regarded you. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “I do pay attention.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “What do you mean?”

Simon’s gaze softened just a fraction as he tilted his head. “During lunch... I cut your deli the way you like it—slices thin enough you can stack ‘em. And when I’m working, I stay in your section. Always have.” He paused, his expression almost apologetic. “Flirting with my boss’s daughter at work isn’t exactly the best move. But…”

You stared at him, your mind trying to make sense of his words.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you both, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “But work’s over now, lass. And here we are.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the real meaning of his words sinking in, and suddenly, the whole night felt like it had shifted, like the game you were playing had just changed.

You opened your mouth, about to say something—anything—to break the silence, to clarify what had just happened, but before you could speak, Simon moved with startling speed.

One moment, you were standing there, staring up at him, and the next, he had lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Your breath caught in your throat as his strong hands gripped you, pulling you flush against his chest, his heat seeping into your bones despite the chill of the rain.

“Your house or mine?”

[ordinary-barbie]

scary dog privileges.

summary: Nobody's messing with you as long as Rafe Cameron is around.

pairing: rafe x sweet!pogue!reader

word count: 1.7k

tags: fem!reader, swearing, a guy acts like a creep towards reader, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex (protected), mutual orgasms

note: dipping my toes into obx fanfic after hyperfixating/crushing on Drew Starkey and reading a ton of Rafe stories, haha. I have not seen the show but I'm shooting my shot here anyway!

~~~~

They say that opposites attract, which couldn't be more accurate regarding your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

Rafe was the Kook king of Kildare Island, someone who oozed cockiness and arrogance. Meanwhile, you were a soft-spoken Pogue. When people spotted the two of you together, they couldn't wrap their heads around it, and frankly, neither could you. Rafe had his pick of any girl on the island - especially the Kooks - but somehow he only had eyes for you, which warmed your heart.

It all started last year, with a party at Tannyhill to celebrate your class graduating from high school. You were content to stay under your covers, binging Love Island Australia on Hulu, but your friend Olivia had begged you to come with her. Eventually, you relented, your curiosity about one of Rafe Cameron's famous parties getting the better of you.

Within five minutes, you'd ran into Rafe—literally. You'd been swaying to the music and accidentally bumped into him, spilling your drink all over his shirt. You'd been mortified, apologizing profusely and insisting on helping him clean up.

Rafe was a goner ever since.

Now it was time for another Tannyhill bash to celebrate the start of summer, and you were squarely by Rafe's side. In the year you'd been together, you'd discovered how protective your boyfriend was. He held onto you like an anchor, always having an arm wrapped around your waist or shoulders, no matter if he was talking to Topper and Kelce or kicking some rando's ass at beer pong. You appreciated it; parties often made you feel like a nervous baby deer, and it was nice to have someone to hold on to.

Unfortunately, you couldn't always be joined at the hip. "I'm gonna piss but I'll be right back, baby," Rafe promised, giving your ass a light squeeze on the way to the bathroom. As soon as your boyfriend was out of sight, your smile dropped. While you'd made an effort to get to know Rafe's friends, you were still incredibly nervous in a house full of Kooks.

To kill some time, you scrolled through Instagram, giggling at Olivia's latest story. She'd posted herself having a "friendly pizza sesh" with a guy, but you knew she'd had a huge crush on him since high school.

Suddenly, a shadow passed over you. "What's got you laughing like that, pretty girl?" You jumped, startled by the unfamiliar male voice.

A smirking guy with short, curly dark brown hair and glinting hazel eyes sauntered up to you. "Hey, I'm Aidan. I'm new in town—but maybe a cute thing like you could show me around?" he lazily drawled.

Your skin prickled with discomfort. You suddenly wanted to shrink into yourself, but you forced yourself to smile anyway. "Sorry, I'm not interested."

Aidan laughed, undeterred, and leaned into you. "Playing hard to get, huh? That's kinda hot," he whispered into your ear, making your stomach churn.

"I said no thanks," you responded, laughing nervously. You should run. You needed to get out of there. But for some reason, you found yourself rooted to the spot, trapped with Aidan and the pungent stench of his cologne.

Aidan pouted, using his arms to pin you against the wall. "C'mon babe, just give me a chance. I don't bite."

"How many times is she gonna tell you to fuck off before you get the point?" Relief flooded your chest at the sound of your boyfriend's voice.

Aidan rolled his eyes. "Why don't you fuck off, dude? We were having a moment."

Rafe glared at Aidan, his eyes blazing with rage, and grabbed the other boy by the collar of his Lacoste polo. "That's my girlfriend, you jackass. And you're gonna step the fuck away from her. Now."

You suddenly felt a zinging sensation in your core, turned on by Rafe's behavior. He was so sweet and silly and kind but could turn into a snarling dog in an instant — definitely not someone to fuck around with.

Rafe released Aidan's collar and the brunette gulped, suddenly trembling with fear.

"I - I'm sorry man. I had no idea," Aidan stammered. "I'll leave her alone."

Rafe wrapped a protective arm around your waist, scowling at Aidan. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Aidan meekly nodded, scurrying out of Tannyhill. The party filled with laughter, with people cheering Rafe on. But Rafe ignored the commotion, only focused on you.

"I'm so sorry baby. I should've been there to protect you from that—that asshat," Rafe apologetically said, tenderly stroking your cheek. You leaned into his touch, instantly comforted by the warmth radiating from his body.

"It's okay, Rafe," you assured him. "It's not like you could take me into the bathroom with you."

Rafe frowned, kissing the top of your head. "Maybe I should. Can't have these fuckin creeps tryna mess with my girl."

You laughed, shaking your head at your well-meaning boyfriend. "I adore you, but I'm not gonna stand there and watch you pee."

Rafe flashed you a lopsided grin. "Why not? We've done way worse things in there. That poor sink has seen some shit."

You playfully shoved Rafe's shoulder. "Rafe Alexander Cameron! I can't believe my knight in shining armor is so crass."

"Don't act like you don't love it, baby," he casually replied, kissing your neck. You let out a soft moan, tilting upward so Rafe could have more access.

The two of you were interrupted by the sound of Topper fake retching. "Begging y'all to please get a room," he pleaded. You couldn't help but snicker at Topper's dramatics.

Rafe lazily flipped off his friend before whisking you off to his bedroom and locking the door. "Get on the bed for me, pretty girl," Rafe said huskily, brushing his lips against your ear. Damn, that nickname sounded so much sexier from Rafe's lips than that douche from earlier. (Aaron? Andrew?)

You kicked off your sandals and laid down on top of Rafe's king-sized bed, pulling off your dress and underwear. Rafe quickly shed himself of his clothes and laid on top of you, kissing down every inch of your body.

"So I'm your knight in shining armor, huh? Well let me give my princess the treatment she deserves," Rafe drawled, relishing in the way your body reacted to his touch.

He plunged two fingers inside you, pumping them in and curling them right against your sweet spot. You gasped, loving the way he stretched you out. Rafe had been the only guy you'd ever slept with and at this point, you couldn't imagine yourself with anyone else; how could you, when you've only experienced the best?

You began to crave more than just his fingers, however. "Rafey," you whined, fully overcome with lust.

Rafe chuckled, lazily rubbing at your clit. "Use your words, princess. Tell me how to make you feel good."

You gulped, still feeling a little timid when it came to expressing your desires in the bedroom. "I need—I need your mouth, Rafey. Please."

Rafe knitted his eyebrows in mock confusion. "Where, baby? Your lips? Your cheek? Your forehead?"

"Rafe Cameron. Eat my pussy before I explode," you begged, your horniness taking over.

Rafe smirked, pulling his fingers out of you before slowly running his tongue across your folds. “Fuck, I love it when you talk dirty. Almost as much as I love this sweet little pussy. She's already so wet for me, holy shit."

You whimpered, arching your back in ecstasy as Rafe continued to pleasure you, kissing and sucking at your clit. You felt that familiar fire in your stomach, a sure sign that your climax was fast approaching.

"Oh, Rafe—'m gonna cum," you moaned, your legs shaking. Rafe sped up his movements, rubbing your clit with his thumb and index finger while pumping his tongue in and out of your hole. Eventually the dam burst and you felt your orgasm wash over you as your legs clamped down on either side of Rafe's head.

You took a minute to come down from your high, admiring the sight of your boyfriend with mussed-up hair and your glistening slick decorating his face. Even while looking totally disheveled, Rafe was a work of art.

Rafe wiped his face with the back of his hand, savoring the rest of your juices on his fingers. "Always my favorite meal baby," he purred. "But now I need to be inside you. Turn around for me, princess."

You shifted your position on the bed so you were lying on your stomach while Rafe rummaged in his bedside drawer for a condom. You heard him unwrapping the foil packet and rolling the condom on before feeling the head of Rafe's cock teasing your hole. You let out a breathy moan, loving and loathing the teasing simultaneously.

Rafe held on to your hips as he pushed into you, thrusting in and out at a steady pace. "Can't get enough of this pussy," he grunted. "So warm and tight f'me."

The din of the party going on downstairs faded away, and you could only focus on the sounds of sex occurring in the room: the duet of moans between Rafe and you, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin slapping against skin. A year ago, you couldn't imagine coming out of your shell like this. But now? Well—

"Gonna cum again, Rafey," you breathily blurted out, feeling your pussy clench down on Rafe's cock.

"Fuck yeah, princess, just come all over my cock," Rafe groaned.

Almost as if on cue, you felt your climax wash over you, and Rafe helped you ride out your orgasm before spilling his load into the condom. You had a fleeting thought about Rafe shooting his cum inside you instead, but you weren't quite ready for that yet.

You and Rafe took a minute to catch your breaths before he took off the condom and tied it up, tossing it into the wastebasket next to his bed. He rolled over on his side, enveloping you in his arms and burying his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Baby, you're incredible," Rafe murmured, kissing your shoulder.

You smiled, feeling light and airy inside. "Rafe, you're incredible. Thanks for being my scary dog earlier."

"I'm sorry, 'scary dog?'" Rafe repeated with a laugh.

"Scary dog privilege. It's something I saw on TikTok," you explained. "Basically it means that if you're with an intimidating-looking person, people will leave you alone because they don't want to mess with a scary dog. And seeing you be protective like that? It was pretty hot."

Rafe fondly gazed at you, stroking your hip. "Well shit, I'll be your scary dog anytime then, baby."

[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.” 

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[lordcrumps]

Sul Sul!

Hello, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who have reached out to me and my family the past few months; for those who don't know, my mum and uncle passed away on the same day in June and then in November I lost my cat of 19 years, so lets just say 2024 can do one!

2025 brings me hope that the year will be better, and the worse of it will be over! I plan on getting back into creating CC streaming etc, but right now I am enjoying playing... well I was until my Pleasantview got corrupted due to user error, but no fear we have a new hood in the works! Pleasant Point - inspired by our very own @kashmiresims Kashmire Point!

Thanks to those who have been with me on discord calls and chats, especially those the last few months, you really helped me in more than one way and I would love to tag you all but I don't want to accidentally miss someone, but you all should know who you are!

What is to come from lordcrumps this year? Details under the cut!

So what shall we expect from lordcrumps in 2025 and beyond? That is a big question! So let's give a big answer! Below will be of some of my most asked questions, so hope I clear things up!

STREAMING - My first goal is to get Pleasant Point finished and ready to play. Once I have this I shall get back into streaming again, setting up a schedule and what not for those who are interested! You can follow here!

YOUTUBE - Can't tell you when, but I do plan on doing more on Youtube!

CUSTOM CONTENT - Everything that I have created CC form, I will go through and upload at some point. I have TONS of stuff that was meant to be in "sets" (sets like, every wall / every floor / entire stuff packs etc) but never got around to finishing due to my hyper-focus moving onto to something different. So instead of hoarding them, I will eventually get around to uploading them! Cos lets face it, I can always update at a later date!

TERRAIN DEFAULTS - My Pleasantview redo / Pleasant Point / Sim State University Redo all use custom terrain types (like lush, dirt, concrete etc), so they are not that user-friendly to just import and play sadly, so I want to create a tutorial set and videos to go along with them. I also have to have the CC released for them to work too! As well as tutorials on how to have multiple roads sets within in one hood / different roads for different terrain types.

REQUESTS - I still do not want to take requests, this is because I do not like to promise something and never deliver. I will continue doing what I want to do and sharing with of all you. Just assume that one day the entire Sims 4 will be converted by myself or other friends of lordcrumps.com *wink* @platinumaspiration *wink*

LORDCRUMPS.COM - This site is not going anywhere, well at least that is the plan, this will be the place for all of my released CC!

LORDCRUMPS DISCORD - Back in my streaming and YouTube days, I had a discord. Feel free to join, the plan is once all the existing CC is sorted and uploaded. Anything that needs play testing / unreleased stuff / sneaky conversions, will be posted in there plus any updates to existing CC.

LINUX - Thanks to @kashmiresims and @teaaddictyt i'm now a linux boi, so will update you how that goes - so far, I am very impressed.

My TOU, I have had a lot of questions about my "rules" and what not so I want to clear things up as much as possible.

I purchase the Sims 4 for me to convert the items to Sims 2, I simply upload to lordcrumps.com for prosperity reasons, and of course to share with you all.

Feel free to use / share / edit what ever you download from me. Not 1 person owns sims conversions; so I cannot lawfully dictate who does what with the downloads. What I will say is for authentic LordCrumps and co CC, it will be on lordcrumps.com, this is where any updates, fixes etc will be posted.

If you use CC for a lot and package up that to share, fine, just make sure they have all the dependencies needed (Sims 4 shadow file, master meshes etc) Just don't take entire packs and re upload and claim as your own? I only ask of this due to the nature of updating files with minor tweaks, updating and bugginess, if it is all linked to one place (my site) then all the updates will be there too.

Hair Defaults by Platasp - this is one download I will be strict on, do not upload anywhere else, this is because of how interconnected the hairs are to each other, removing one might break another. Any updates will be kept to lordcrumps or individual files on PlatAsp tumblr. lordcrumps.com is not planning on shutting down any time soon, so there is no need to re-upload anywhere else.

SIMS 4 CC CONVERSIONS - Yes, one day once The 4T2 conversions have been done, I will be working on converting CC for the Sims 4, but right now; no, unless its really spectacular. So please stop asking to convert stuff from Sims 4 creators as that does not interest me right now. The reasoning behind this is that if I start treating myself to CC items, I will get spoilt and not want to convert actual Sims 4 stuff, silly excuse I know, but I would like to convert the Sims 4 first. That would be cool.

ANYWHO - That's all I think I have to say now, if you made it this far down thank you, here is some more pics of Pleasant Point to say thanks ahah!

Have a great day! See you soon!

[i-live-here-in-my-house]

Thinking about a world where Sega and Capcom came together and gave us what we all deserve: a Sonic X Ace Attorney crossover game. I would think it'd lean more into a visual novel style, maybe with some parts more similar to the Investigation games where you play as Sonic in kinda an isometric platforming stage? Honestly that part isn't as fully formed in my mind.

Some sort of Eggman plot ends up getting everyone accidentally sent to the world of AA while he's on the search for some kinda spirit channeling maguffin to aid him in a take-over-the‐world-plot. And of course Phoenix "luckiest unlucky man ever" Wright ends up getting himself stuck right in the middle of it all.

For the first/tutorial case I think Sonic would absolutely need to be the defendant. I would think the events of the case probably take place either the same day of or the day after the Sonic cast gets transported into the world. Something along the lines of Sonic not having an alibi because he was moving too fast for them to see him would be a perfect kinda turnabout twist to combine the logic of both series together imo.

Also throughout the whole game there would 100% be a running gag about people mistaking Phoenix and Sonic for eachother purely because of Wright's hair and Sonic's quills

Case two's defendant is a toss up between Knuckles or Tails imo, I lean more towards Knuckles being the one though for one very important reason. Tails would be perfect for the Ace Attorney 'weird girl assistant' role. Obviously Sonic would be tagging along too (because no way in hell would you not be able to have both protagonists hanging out together) but Tails would be totally down to help and Sonic, while he totally wants to help Knux, is very much in a "I could just break him out and be back before they could even notice he's gone" mood which is causing Phoenix just SO much grief.

I think this would probably break from the general mold of AA and not be a murder case and instead be a larceny case, with Knuckles being accused of the crime due to his digging skills, and the fact that tunnels were found all around the property of the stolen object. This is where we learn about this spirit channeling macguffin through either a Pearl cameo, who we learn through fluff dialogue is now an honorary member of Team Rose due to how well she gets along with them. It turns out to actually be Rouge who stole the macguffin under orders from G.U.N to keep it out of Eggman's hands meaning she doesn't sentenced for the crime since she technically didn't break any laws.

Case three's defendant would be Big the Cat because I think it'd be funny. Something along the lines of Big looking for Froggy and ending up at a totally unrelated murder scene. You play as Apollo in this case because he's my favorite boy and I think it'd be funny to watch him struggle with having to deal with Big. Just a general silly case full of wacky crossover fun before getting more seriously into the plot with the final two cases. Also the Chaotix are there because you can't have a mystery game without detective. Are the helping? Are they against you? Not really sure. But it'd be a massive missed opportunity to NOT include them.

Amy would be case four's defendant, with her piko piko hammer being found at the scene and Omega's body being found in pieces. That's right! I think it'd be interesting to have a named character be the victim of one of these cases, but obviously I'm not gonna kill anyone off. I think Omega would be the best pick though since he's a robot and it'll take time for Tails to fix him from the totally wrecked state he's in. I think it'd be fun to have Shadow as a key witness in this case, believing Amy did it. He doesn’t want to suspect she did something like this, but claims he saw her in the act of tearing Omega apart with her hammer, take the macguffin and then bolt.

It goes without saying it's obviously Eggman trying to frame Amy for this, using Metal Sonic to frame her by using his shape shifting powers from Heros to disguise himself as her, take apart Omega to retrieve the macguffin, and get it to Eggman. Leading into the final case.

The final case would be a continuation from there with out heros all joining together to try and stop Eggman from using the machine being powered by the Macguffin. Maybe something about Phoenix needing to come with because his magatama is able to counteract it...? Idk. Get that mandatory Edgeworth cameo in there with it being revealed that him and Franziska were teaming up with Team Dark the whole game to help put a stop to things (Giving us fun Phoenix + Sonic and Edgeworth + Shadow parallels). Of course the heros manage to put a stop to things and everyone goes back to their own world yadda yadda happy ending.

This came out way longer than I expected haha but I hope y'all like the concept! If I had the patience I'd totally write this as a fan fic but I know I don't so if anyone wants to take my idea and expand on it absolutely do it! Just let me know so I can read it too. :3

[bookshelf-for-stuff-i-wanna-read]

Masterlist of Masterlists Blogs

A list for each masterlist and the person who it's from, just for a visual reference

Edit: I fucking forgot but now in spite doing it later this month because there are so many writers who have cool writing stuff but I keep forgetting and getting overwhelmed and worried I’m going to forget them because my brain is being a little shit like that. Idk how tags work, if they do without having to post it or whatever but if I tag you, you’re cool and I swear one day I will get myself to stop procrastinating on starting to read (the hardest part tbh)

Basically it’ll be the person/blog, short synapse of their writing, and whatever the fuck I thought was interesting and wanted to read later because I keep fearing I’m going to forget and that does not bode well with mental health creating stupid unnecessary anxiety

…I am going to procrastinate on this fuck you future me

HAHA SIKE YOU THOUGHT PAST ME

basic structure is this

@/[blog name]

recommended/saved thing to read (if any. Mainly specifics and also a brief, uh, briefing)

tags that they tend to fall under (#fluff or #whump or whatever. Will be very basic in terms of tagging I’m not good at complicated stuff)

It will be constantly updated as I find new things and info. Also these are in no particular order, maybe one day organize in terms of reading content but for now it’s gonna be a mess. Gonna be a mess of blogs and eventually I’ll add descriptions when I have more time because it’ll be easier than trying to remember each block if that makes sense.

Also words are hard so sorry if I sound like a broken record for some of them. They’re all great, regardless of whether you’re giving the blorbos hurt or comfort or throwing them into a wall and then giving them a blanket. Y’all are positively epic with you’re writing don’t ever stop

Also, because I feel the urge to add because I feel like I’m somehow being a fraud and two-faced liar (I overthink a lot okay?), I am technically of the blog @idkanonymystuff for reference. Adding that because I don’t want to accidentally have people think I’m two separate people it makes me feel bad and want to be as apologetic as this

https://youtu.be/XspDkqEtWFE?si=MxUloG4CM1GZKRSW

(Hopefully that works, if not, search up Japanese Apology Olympics)

Added a cut so that if it’s reblogged it doesn’t take up the entire thing lol because it’s looong

I’m putting this post here because I like learning about others blorbos and also they have stories behind them and I like that

Also putting this post here because it has a bunch of blogs for writing people. Mostly heroes and villains but ye

Also this because writing people

ーーー

@jumpywhumpywriter

Honestly everything, but meaning to get to the Vampires and Villains crossover mainly and also the books involving Shadow and Thomas (I forgo title). All of it is hecking amazing and very well written, first started at the Crippled Hero and went from there. All of it is great! Personal favorite probs the Coffee shop

Whump, heroes and villains, fantasy (? Idk, there’s mythology creatures and world built stuff it’s all cool)

—

@unknownogre

Also everything. Not anything specifically, maybe the Ao3 stuff but all of the writings are good

Fantasy, heroes and villains (occasionally), fluff (?idk if that counts but there’s some wholesome stuff there)

—

NEW THING @skyward-floored

Bit strange forgoing adding on the bottom, but genuinely feel like this person deserves a spot at the top, since they’re probably the reason I went down the tumblr path I did and all of this! Not gonna go in depth, but back when I was only on for LoZ stuff, I stumbled across their stuff and the rest is history! Also where I first learned about whump and I that’s how I discovered that whole community! Also the realization that that’s what I like so hell yeah they’re great so they go on the top :D

Whump, fluff, LoZ I guess? Not sure what tags to do but lotta variety! Also apologies for not doing it sooner, I kept procrastinating lol

—

@paingoes

The Destroyer’s Trilogy, either on Tumblr or Ao3. Been meaning to read it but starting is the hardest part. Damn you procrastination

Whump, living weapon (not a tag here I don’t think but that’s the story content. Mainly for Destroyer), recovery (rubies), think that’s all but I’m dumb so sue me

—

@heroes-villains-side-blog

Honestly they just have a bit of everything (and as the name implies, it’s all heroes and villains). Also good for worldbuilding ideas (from the stories)

Hecking all the tags, but I personally like the crack tag. Also fluff and soft ____. I’m a sucker for that stuff okay? Not just whump (though that’s good as well)

—

@chaotic-orphan (and also @macknus technically?)

Main ones are ones I’ve already read, Benign Mischeif (really hecking good I love it) and the delirious villain x hero caretaker (also really hecking good, fingers crossed that vengeance is had. Iykyk). Maybe check out the other ones and see if they spark interest

Whump, heroes and villains, fantasy and found family (for the benign mischief. Maybe also fluff but that’s probably a stretch)

—

@thepenultimateword

Not entirely sure, but all the series are quite good and have nice fluff. No immediate thoughts on what to read but it’s great for fuzzy/comfort feelings (as far as I know/have read. Will update if there’s more)

Heroes and villains, fluff, fantasy (kinda? There is some fantasy)

—

@thoughtsonhurtandcomfort

All their stuff is the absolute shit (if you’re reading this, it’s the idk anon who sent a long appreciation. Been lurking), amazing whump and comfort/recovery (absolutely phenomenal cannot say it enough) for all their blorbos, perfect amount of shaking them in a Tupperware and then comfort. All of them are good, just, all of them. If I listened each one out and my likings this would be not be a briefing

Whump, comfort, fluff, recovery, lotta different Whumpees (not a tag but quite a nice variety), fantasy (?),

—

@fourwingedwriter

As of rn, mainly the cyborg whump series (FUCKING AMAZING HIGHLY RECOMMEND), it’s very sweet and has recovery after whump (again, I really love the recovery and comfort and all that. My absolute favorite. Also I like happy endings shut up), but the other series seem cool too.

Whump, cyborg whump (specifically), fluff, recovery (that’s kinda rocky? Eh?),

—

@inkwell-and-dagger

The How to Kill an Immortal one seemed quite interesting! Been meaning to check it out later (if I don’t procrastinate into oblivion).

Whump, immortal specifically, uh, I’ll add more after I read it

—

@whump-in-the-closet

Honestly a few, something about an arson elf (I forgo the name sorry) and the Saviour thing. Read the first few for the elf and all for the savior (atm) and they’re really hecking good.

Whump, heroes and villains, fantasy, living weapon (I know they have some stuff in that. Might be prompts but those are also cool)

—

@the-modern-typewriter

Heroes and villains mainly, personally I read them like one would a daily magazine, all the pieces are very good. Also personal things which are cool and I want to read but alas I do not have a patron account (I forgot the titles but I will put them here once I find/remember)

Heroes and villains, fluff, whump, h/c, honestly all the tags lotta variety

—

@raineandsky

Mainly heroes and villains, great variety, lotta content. Good for when you’re in a browsing sorta mood

Heroes and villains, honestly all the tags.

—

@the-broken-pen

Great stuff, nothing specific but I have been meaning to browse the stories available but haven’t gotten to it. The ones I HAVE read though are amazing and have nice feelings.

Heroes and villains, fantasy, fluff and angst (as of rn those are mainly the genres of the ones I’ve read.)

—

@whumpsday

Mainly the Kane and Jim series, it’s fucking phenomenal (sorry for alternating curse usage I’m inconsistent), one of the first series I got into, absolutely impeccable storyline. The prequel is great set up, the Jim arc makes me want to ram a silver sword up Kane’s ass, the Kane arc made me feel sorry for them (especially after knowing all of dudes history and lack of persuasion. The whump parts were gooooood though), and the current arc makes me feel warm and fuzzy and gave me inspo for my own storylines. All in all, great shit and can’t wait to see how the next arcs eventually unfold

Whump, vampire whump specifically, recovery and comfort, fluff (kinda??? Like at the end),

—

@mj-iza-writer

No series to follow but they do have some good shit. Great one-shots (?) and I really love the recovery/comfort that usually happens at the end (again, personal favorite thing to read.). Highly recommend

Whump, recovery, comfort, fluff (probably doesn’t fit exactly but some things are quite sweet imo. Do correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not good with tags

—

@whumpisgoodwhumpislife

Great series with Everest and the battery and fish man. It’s a nice amount of whump and comfort together and I really like the fluffiness (?) of the recovery part of things (rip battery man at the moment).

Whump, recovery, comfort, vampire and living battery and mer (those are the three of them)

—

@befuddled-calico-whump (and also @whumpflash technically?)

I have yet to read their stuff but all of it seems really hecking epic. Penumbra sparked interest but then I procrastinated so hard on starting it that I feel guilty (what?). But all of it seems really epic! Also comics! All really cool! Personal fave that I actually finished from getting started was the whole testing the effectiveness of torture methods (Test Track, that’s what it was) and it’s horrible I love it (and I mean that in the most genuine way possible)

Whump, comics (? Might make a new tag for that cause comics are also great!), lotta stuff lotta variety

—

@save-the-villainous-cat

Their stuff is the absolute shit (like all the others)! Heroes and villains and the writing is so well done (god I feel like I’m being repetitive curse my sporadic vocabulary). They have fluff (fucking phenomenal), they have angst (I don’t think I’ve checked it out yet lol but it’s probably fucking phenomenal) they have whump (also fucking phenomenal), they have horny jail (what? I may be asexual but, uh, okay idk I mainly focus on the closeness and intimacy not the, uh, y’know. Anyways, it’s also fucking phenomenal), it’s all great! All around absolutely beautiful works of literature

Heroes and villains, fluff, angst, whump, smut (the four nations—),

—

@sir-fenris

The Curse of Withering…man it’s fucking beautiful. I have plans on reblogging it with commentary and stuff but procrastinating and overthinking got the better of me. I will do it in the future (mayhaps) but until then, it was hands down one of the best things I’ve read. The concept, the worldbuilding (via random posts that aren’t the main storyline), the characters, the way the words convey the feelings and characters and all that so smoothly, honestly perfection. I eagerly await whatever morsels or writings come next and that Cyrus can have tomato soup and grilled cheese and a blanket or whatever the heck they want because they hecking deserve it

Whump, living weapon, more tags to be added as the story unfolds

—

@lovelizards

Great whump stuff in terms of both writing and not writing (art. The word is art)! Also apparently stardew valley somewhat which I’m not complaining about, hell yeah! As for series, honestly all of them are quite interesting, just a matter of getting started

Whump, comics (okay not really but it’s a tag that’ll work in the future for when I get around to reblogging stuff with art and all that),

—

@those-damn-snippets

Beautiful writings in their own and they have collection of heroes and villains stuff that are also great to read! I particularly like the Breakfast in Bed storyline, something about drunkness, Chaotic good (the villain is a mood), and something involving a four-armed monster dude. There are a lot more but they’re all phenomenal!

Heroes and villain, fluff, angst (?),

—

@creweemmaeec11

Heroes and villains, fluffy writings all around, all of it is great! Been meaning to finish one of the series, Panic as a gift (I forgo title) but all of them, series and snippets, are beautiful!

Heroes and villains, fluff,

—

@melpomenelamusa

The one named chimera I think was the name (shut up it’s late) but it seems really hecking interesting! The whole concept is really cool and just, god words are not on my side atm but yeah seems epic. Definitely on my to read list

Whump, nonhuman (?),

—

@oros-ash3s

All of their things seem really interesting and in depth and complex to the point where my brain gets overwhelmed trying to absorb all the details but in a good way. I’m very curious to learn about the storylines (understanding/comprehension be damned /j) and is definitely on the to read list!

Whump, I know there ARE other tags it could fall under but I have yet to find them sorry, will update as I get into it

@writing-prompt-s

Technically they aren’t a writing blog, BUT the prompts and reblog of said prompts have some absolute gems of literature. Great for if you don’t know what to read and can just scroll around until you find a prompt that’s interesting and then just look through that prompts reblogs for writing. It’s fucking worth it, found a few of my favorite writers there (like unknownogre)!

All the tags, just, all of them, it can be anything like Barbie

—

@defectivehero

Also heroes and villains though with more so a focus on whump for the most part (though if my short memory serves me right, a few that aren’t as whumpy. Could be wrong tho). It’s been a minute since I checked them out (I do have plans to browse a bit), but their writing is phenomenal, the emotions and actions and all those writing things are done so well. Highly recommend!

Heroes and villains, whump/angst (mostly), might be other tags but I’ll add them as I remember because it’s seriously been a minute

—

@neon-kazoo

Mainly heroes and villains stuff, I’ve read quite a few of the things and they’re all phenomenal. No immediate series that intrigue me to get started on but it’s great for browsing!

Heroes and villains, all the other type of tags idk man it’s a lot and I’m stupid /j

—

@melpomenelamusa (for some reason I can’t remember if I already did this one. If I did, apologies)

The main intriguing thing is the chimera series (the one with the half-animal peoples). Seems like an extremely intriguing concept and is in my to read list!

Whump, non human (specifically. I think?),

—

@writinglittlepains

Got introduced from looking through either chaotic orphan or closet-whump person (I am so sorry I forgo name whump-in-the-closet?), the speedster one if fucking crazy. I love it and can’t wait to see where it goes next!

Heroes and villains, whump, lab specifically???,

—

@secretwhumplair

Recently got quite invested into the “No Warrior” storyline and so far (still quite in the beginning) it’s hecking great! Actually phenomenal, and that’s before I’ve even read more than like the first 5 installment. Currently on consequences and I am god damn hooked on the storyline! Can’t wait to see how it ends!

Whump, comfort, uh, fantasy kinda? It has Vikings idk man

—

@mirensiart

Okay, again, I know this is technically more so a comic but shut up it’s my bookshelf and I do what I want (plus comics are just books with way too much picture to word ratio which is great for my stupid attention span :D). The LU pain sharing AU is great! Also really hecking good art. Also I like Legend of Zelda stuff, it’s cool. Fun fact, actually I think the first reason I started regularly coming into tumblr lol

Comics, fantasy (? The video game characters are technically fantasy Esq), idk if whump counts but kinda?, fluff, I guess it could technically be slice of life but in a really strange and complicated sense. I did say I suck at tags so forgive me this is hard agh-

—

@kythonsechos

Mostly fantasy stuff and while there isn’t a lot of stuff they’ve done, the few pieces of writing they have done hooked me and despite not knowing whatever world they have going on I am god damn invested in it. Also the writing is done phenomenally!

Fantasy, uh, atm that’s kinda it. Maybe kinda worldbuilding??

—

@just-horrible-things

Saw the master list of “Unlikely Salvation” from another blog and it seemed really hecking interesting. I just have not yet had the ability to stop procrastinating and actually get started on it.

Whump, fantasy (?), uh, more to come once I read/figure out if there’s anything else

—

@kaiwewi

Lotta good heroes and villains stuff. They have some great series; just binge read the one with what I can only for some reason remember as “Fashion Famous” even though that’s most definitely not the title, but it’s great! Also the writing is fucking phenomenal and like tomato soup with the grilled cheese on a rainy fall afternoon when you don’t have any adulting to do!

Heroes and villains, plethora of all the tags (because wide variety), ugghhh my brain is melting it’s midnight I’m sorry will edit this part out agh—

—

@thewhumpcaretaker

I can’t remember if I already did them, but if not what the fuck me they’re great how could you forget? ANYWAYS, Curse in two bodies (I am sorry if I got name wrong it’s late and I’m on mobile and really don’t wanna do sushi’s) is fucking phenomenal, beautifully done and a very unique writing style I really dig.

Whump, Royal whump specifically, kinda comfort? Caretaker stuff but like fucked up?? How do I categorize this? Fantasy I think (or has kings and shit that counts right?)

—

@pigeonwhumps

I genuinely can’t recall if I put them here but all of there stuff seems great! Been invested in (now procrastinating on) the Phoenix series ‘Immortal Cannon Fodder’ and it made me feel things I was not prepared to feel and I wish to adopt and care for them and, definitely unrelated, want to skin a few certain individuals alive (that’s a compliment, you’re very good at portraying characters to hate. Aka you are very good with crafting words, I seriously mean that as a compliment, really do apologize if it’s unintentionally rude or anything)

Whump, immortal whump, heroes and villains (technically), those are the main ones for now

—

@maybeitsalivescribbles

Don’t know how I forgot them (or if I already did include them, how did I forget again), but their stuff is the good stuff. I don’t even think that’s good enough to express how good the writing is, loved the “These two dorks” master list and their one off crackles. Also one of the first few writers I discovered when I only just uncovered the world of tumblr writers!

Heroes and villains, fantasy, lil bit of everything tbh it’s great

—

@mythos-night

Only just discovered them and read one snippet, but by the gods their writing is good! I feel bad for not having more to say, but I don’t have anything else to add, they’re great :D will most definitely read through their things once I get over the hill that is just starting lol

Heroes and villains, uh, will add more tags when I fully check them out

—

@sleeplessspell

Same thing as above, absolutely impeccable craftsmanship of words into narratives and beautifully portraying characters and stories and ajahhdjwkdh— great stuff :D will also check out once I get over procrastination of starting to reading works of literature art (seriously, why are there so many of you? Slow down /joking)

Fantasy, uh, also will add more tags when I fully check them out

—

Okay another break god why are there so many of you—

[olderthannetfic]

I thought it would be interesting to see if I could easily determine which ships had the most works updated in 2023.

It turned out to be fairly easy, though a little time consuming. I think these results should be reasonably accurate.

Some points to note:

I did this on my own account, and I have like 2 people muted. So I am capturing the effects of archive-locked works, but my numbers might be off by one or two works due to muting.

Works updated in 2023 is a number that constantly changes as works are deleted or updated again in 2024.

I didn't scrape the entire archive or anything like that, so it's possible I missed a ship that would bump one of these down below 100. I'd take the last few at the bottom there with a grain of salt. But I think we can be reasonably sure the top ones are accurate and that the kinds of numbers that we see at the bottom there (eighteen hundred plus works updated in 2023) are about where the cutoff will be even if we find a ship I missed.

--

As for how I did this, I went to the category tags and the rating tags, filtered for updating in 2023, then excluded ships in the sidebar till I got to 130-150 ships excluded. I also grabbed ships that are big in general from tag search, which you can use to find all relationship canonicals, ordered by frequency.

I combined those lists of ships, cleaned off the works numbers, and generated a list without duplicates. That got me three hundred and something (yes, they were mostly duplicates). I generated the relevant AO3 URLs, opened them in batches with Open Multiple URLs, and copied the works totals into a spreadsheet. Not as tidy as using a script but honestly pretty easy if you know a few spreadsheet formulas to clean up data.

The key here is that if you're only going for pretty good and not accurate beyond a shadow of a doubt, all you need to do is generate a list of likely ships, then check them.

It's possible that there's some much-updated ship that is so evenly spread across these various other tags that it just missed showing up in the sidebar. Hopefully, grabbing more than just the top 100 avoided this problem.

This method also doesn't take into account backdated works. If a whole archive was imported in 2023 but all backdated, there could be some ship that didn't have new works but where AO3 users experience in 2023 was of an influx of content.

I also did this just now, in late March/early April, so some 2023 works have inevitably been deleted or updated again. So the exact work counts don't represent the experience of using AO3 throughout 2023. A fandom active in early 2023 might not have much updating in early 2024, while a fandom active in late 2023 would. This could demote the latter a few places in the rankings since I didn't grab numbers on January 1st.

Even if a person scraped AO3 every day or was monkeying around in the databases, you also have to ask what conceptual answer you're after. Is it works a user could have read at some point during 2023, whether they were deleted by the year's end or not? Is it new-to-AO3 works or only newly-created ones, not including imported archives? Does it matter if the works are fic? If they're in English? What about accidental double-uploads or translations of a single work?

I hope this makes it clear why a definitive ranking is not actually possible.

However, despite these drawbacks, I am confident that the rankings above accurately represent the broad trends on AO3 in 2023. Just don't get too fixated on whether a ship should be at number 73 or number 74.

And, of course, I excluded these from the top 100:

Original Character(s)/Original Character(s) - 20,026

Minor or Background Relationship(s) - 16,187

No Romantic Relationship(s) - 8,052

Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s) - 7,195

Original Male Character/Original Male Character - 6,283

Other Relationship Tags to Be Added - 5,618

Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s) - 3,990

Original Character(s) & Original Character(s) - 3,210

Here's a spreadsheet if you want to see the actual numbers not as a shitty screencap. I left the next few below 100 for context.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Diet peach soup would probably have the celestials and Marshalls get involved a lot sooner. Overpowered babies are not a good idea to leave unsupervised. As for Macaque, the lady bone demon is most likely going to just shove him onto the thrall, as his problem. Either to be raised as her soldier, or as a potential backup vessel.

Prev.

Yeeeaah the Stalwarts have to get involved sooner than later since their king is now in his terrible twos (again). They present themselves to Pigsy and Tang as village elders who want to help them in raising the boys, and introducing them to their culture. Pigsy was eh on the idea, but Tang was uber excited! Monkey demon culture lessons!

Peaches and MK honestly thought that the Stalwarts were their grandparents for a long time, especially since they didn't know Papa Tang's side of family and assumed he was a just patchy-furred monkey. XD

Nezha, checking in on Wukong: "Why do I sense two baby stone monkeys- WHAT THE SCALLOP!?"

Peaches still gets his school bestie in the form of "Nez", albeit from an earlier age. Nezha can risk a mini-god running around without a voice of reason. Moksa tags in on his younger bro's behalf + as a kindness to Guanyin, as a "cool older kid" watching out for the little monkeys. The -Zha brothers want to keep Sun Wukong's condition as much as a secret as possible from the rest of the Celestial Realm.

Erlang takes one third-eye-look at the situation and goes "Ah crap, I'm gonna have to be their mentor." Cue an Athena and Telemachus dynamic developing between Erlang and the boys once they lift the Staff. But for now, he's Babysitter Jian - the only kid Pigsy and Tang have ever seen feed, wash, and entertain the little monkeys without so much as a grumble. (Jian, shrugs: "I have little cousins.")

Even the Peach Maidens who attended the Orchard with Wukong long ago ensure that he and his little brother are well-watched - glamouring themselves as a gaggle of old ladies in their favourite park. Always ready to pinch cheeks, give fresh fruit treats, and tell the boys how big they're getting!

The Thrall is currently reforming his body after Wukong slapped him across the country for stealing the Stone Egg (aka unhatched MK) + forcing him to drink some nasty potion (Meng Po's soup), so he's not much help in raising de-aged macaques rn.

Macaque accidentally dodges LBD by being a slippery little guy! Falls and crawls through so many shadows that its hard to keep track of him from the Underworld. Lives rough on the street for some time before ending up in the hands of someone who would truly care about him.

Sandy: "Aww. You're an odd little kitten aren't ya?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*spitting and hissing at the giant with all his might, violently protecting the cat food he found. Is barely the size of a football*) Sandy, gently picks up cub: "Hey hey... I used to be an angry little guy too. I learned that when a lot of people are upset, they're really just scared about something that hard to explain." De-Aged!Macaque: (*angry grumbles as he's picked up! Presses ears against fish man's chest to drown out the sound of the city*) Sandy: "Are your ears at you, little buddy? I can see why. One, two three... six ears! Thats a lot of earmuffs." De-Aged!Macaque: (*grumbling gets quieter. Absent-mindedly sucks on his fingers.*) Sandy, conflicted: "I... I really should just bring you to a police station or something. But something tells me that you'll need someone in your corner who understands how messy life can be. If I can manage it, would you be ok staying here with me?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*uninterested squeak*) Sandy, smile forming: "I'll take that as an Okey-dokey. Now... how about a name? Your white fur is super shiny in the moonlight... how about Moon?" "Moon": (*tares up at his new guardian with big violet eyes, one is milky and possibly blind. Makes a curious chirrup at the name.*) Sandy, heart-warming smile: "I think thats a winner."

Little Moon is a curious little guy. Not only because of his ears (the fish man jokes that it's his son's axolotl-like gills), but from an early age Moon has had control over shadows.

It began as simple fascination with stage magic. Moon watched stage magicians preform their tricks of misdirection and illusion, and wanted to see if he could replicate it.

Sandy: (*makes a bunny shape in the shadow of a lamp*) Moon: (*excited cheep!*) Moon: (*manipulates shadows to make many bunnies!*) Sandy, surprised: "Oh!"

Sandy was worried that this power wasn't something that could be trained easily, and an incident where Mo disappeared into one of Moon's shadows for an afternoon (reappeared unharmed once the treat bag was shaken) prompted the fish man to try and find an outlet for his kid.

Thats how he met The Nine Tailed Vixen. The elderly huli jing was hosting a children's acting class at her theatre, and Sandy wondered if it would aid his son's creative drive. It turned out to be a blessing since the heavenly fox was quick to identify, and help Moon tame his wild magic.

(Jiuweihuli is so relieved to have her protégé safe and sound again. Sandy is a good man, and she's glad that her little shadow has found a kind papa.)

Sensing a hunch, the old fox contacted Nezha on whether there wer other de-aged little monkeys...

Peaches and Moon meet during one of the acting camps. At first they cannot believe their eyes.

On sight they feel as though they've known the other their entire lives and beyond.

At the end of the day's acting camp, a group of old friends reunite.

Pigsy, with MK in a sling: "Sandy!?" Sandy: "Pigsy!" Peaches & Moon, running to their respective parent: "Baba!" Pigsy & Sandy, both surprised: "Baba!? You?!" "Yeah!" "Since when?" "Since I found him on the street!" "Whoa. weird."

Peaches and Moon are hard to separate after that meeting. Even if acting camp didn't turn out well for the ginger monkey (stage fright activated), they rarely go more than a week without an excited play date or visit to the theatre.

DBK's gut reaction to the young monkey demon holding his sworn brother's staff is; "Did Sun Wukong have a child- wait. What in Yama's name happened to you!?" Peaches doesn't answer the question as he nearly passes out screaming. Moon is half-way across town wondering what's scared his bestie so bad.

[lu-fic-recommendation-of-the-day]

Do you know any good Dark Link Redemption fics? I’m already following ADATL and I read When Dink Dinked up, but I want more so badly.

(I’ve also read A Guide To Living (Again) if that counts as a Dink redemption)

By: @luckyletio

Summary:

“So,” Malon states levelly, “for some reason, the guy you attacked, chained up, and imprisoned in our pantry, isn’t being cooperative.”

The pantry door rattles, angry hissing coming from within.

The collection of Links in her kitchen appear rather sheepish. Her own Link blinks back at her, “…Well, when you word it like that…”

-Or-

Heroes have been pulled together from across time to face a mysterious threat, but accidentally find a Link with a darker tale to tell.

Tags:

Dark Link joins the Chain

Enemies to Friends

Kidnapping

accidental Dink acquisition

Misunderstandings

Mistaken Identity

Wrongful Imprisonment

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

The Shadow and Dark Link are separate entities

Whump

Angst

Angst with a Happy Ending

Comedic angst

Hurt/Comfort

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Canon-Typical Violence

mute character

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Downfall Dark AU

Word count: 4,589

Finished: No

[rosaemoux]

part two of my magic batman magical au, here's part one:

Ok so we last left off with Bruce grieving Jason Todd, swearing he'll never take in another apprentice and isolating himself from his clan, substantially weakening Gotham's defences against malicious mages while Barbara desperately tries to get a hold of the city. Dick is currently in between getting his life together in the sister city Bludhaven after helping his friends during multiple travels around the world when suddenly Haley's Circus comes into town.

That's where Tim Drake decides to do something. The only heir to a new money family, Tim's parents weren't mages, his dad had a basic understanding of time magic while his mom was relatively good with ilusory magic but they never pursuit it over the passion of their life, archeology. Tim, however, always loved magic, loved the way mages would make miracles out of the ordinary and loved the way it tested the impossible. Tim loved the Clan of The Bats. He always did, ever since he was a child and first saw the beauty of Haley's Circus, when he saw The Flying Graysons for the first time.

A Lonely Place of Dying goes about the same way, the same with Rite Of Passage, except when Bruce screamed that the water was poisonous, Jack managed to reverse time around him for a few seconds in a powerful fit of desperation to save Janet's life, not caring about actually reversing time for himself though. So, both of Tim's parents end up in coma, Tim, now accepted as Bruce's newest apprentices, moves into the manor and formally starts training.

Unfortunately, Tim doesn't have the early training of Dick, nor the raw talent of Jason, so he struggles finding an affinity. Bruce decides to send him on a three week trip to Paris to train with his old teachers, The Rahul Lama, hopefully to get a new perspective and find what he's comfortable with. He does spend two weeks trying his best but ultimately failing before he gets pulled into a full blown conspiracy.

Lady Shiva decides to train him while they're at it, and for some reason, something just clicks. Her methods and way of seeing magic just works really well with Tim. When their manhunt against Edmund Dorrance is done, Shiva finally gets a lead on something she's been searching for a while, and Tim tags along with her mission while she teaches the path of ilusory magic, of perceiving into someone's mind and changing it to your will. It just turns out that the something was actually someone...

Flash forward, we have exact the point in which the story starts, with Tim arriving into Gotham Harbor, two months late with a girl, apparently Lady Shiva's daughter who currently doesn't have a name. Bruce almost has a heart attack, both extremely relieved that Tim is safe but also it's been two months who is this-

Cassandra – as Barbara would go on to name her – was a mage prodigy, being trained since the moment she was born to be a perfect weapon by her father. She had a very good understanding of all attributes of magic, with amazing spatial awareness and downright telepathic intuitive perception, at the cost of no understanding of language. Shiva mentioned something about a League of Shadows, but Tim isn't really sure what it is exactly, just that they wanted Cass to join them, but after killing someone for the first time and accidentally stealing their soul, she started to run away from them, mostly living in the streets before a friend of Shiva's found her in Hong Kong. Her and Tim are mostly attached at the hip to each other, inseparable.

Bruce and Barbara decided it would be safer and less stressful for Cass if she lived in the Clocktower instead of having to live in the manor. Time mostly passes without many events after that, with most of their focus being to make sure Cass adjusts well to Gotham and find ways to communicate with her. That is, until Tim stalked one of Bruce's missions despite being benched and met – promptly being hit in the face by a brick – Stephanie Brown.

She was a self taught prodigy of time magic, daughter of a lesser death mage, she was hellbent on spoiling all of her father's plans. Bruce didn't really like her motivation to practice magic, and did his best to try to get her to give up.

Tim and Steph quickly became close to each other, and as weeks passed it became clear that she wasn't going to leave the streets of Gotham no matter what. Bruce was peer pressured by everyone in his life to also accept Steph as an apprentice and actually train her before she got really hurt.

And so, The House of The Bat got three new mage students from very different backgrounds. (I like to think the vibes of the story sometimes are very much like Witch's Hat Atelier) Considering that Barbara has a litteral wizard's tower, she's usually the one who's trying to make sure each one of them goes though their mage's journey safely. She's helping them get a understanding of magic and of their affinity, her classes are very challenging, but not impossible.

Tim leans into Ilusory magic – I think him and Bruce should get pretty similar magic, but while Bruce leans into deceiving, Tim likes to perceive and understand other's mind – Steph gets better and better in Time magic, and to complement the two, Cass starts to study Physical magic.

Just thinking of three mage apprentices running away from rogues, getting into trouble and taking down magical mobsters during the night and having to study grueling hours of torture with Barbara. Thinking of Dick abducting them to a impromptu practical class (Babs is going to murder him). Thinking of Bruce having to deal with three children and messing up so much.

Thinking of Stephanie's death and how hard it would affect Tim and Cass. Thinking of Tim finding a mysterious book in his birthday presents, one that's written in some parts in a cypher that uses a combination of mandarin and arabic he spends months trying to solve. It is a necromancy guide, gifted out of indulging the question of what the little bats would do with it. After all, you only need a basic ritual and a death mage with a soul under their name.

A soul for a soul, an equal exchange.

[glitterydragoncollective]

Fandoms, proshippers, antis, censorship - a rant

what makes me angry about vocal antis is majorly the fact that they’re fighting against the wrong people and the wrong cause. I understand feeling disgusted and distrusting of proshippers and not liking certain fan works but these are not things and people that actually cause widespread harm. 

I don’t think all antis are actually harassing people. I know that proshippers aren’t all saints. This isn’t even about that really, I’m talking about people most of us have minimised as just being “stupid kids”

And I know this discourse mostly happens online, but many of these “stupid kids” grow into adults, and some of these past “stupid kids” are now adults who have the power to bring that censorship or are going to be in power to cause unwanted change

For now it’s just a lot of hot air being made public, I realize that. I guess I just wanted to make a post about the future

I want to show an example of me previously saying “antis are fighting against the wrong people and cause” with this screenshots. They obviously don’t realize or understand what they’re posting, and compare kinky fantasies wrongly with things like racism or hate speech. 

They think since both causes them to feel uncomfortable, it causes harm

However, sex positive psychologists agree that kinky fantasies about fake people and things that aren’t real, even if they’re gross, they don’t usually cause harm

Emotions, as valid as they are, they’re also not causing harm

But when someone engages with, as an example, underage fics and feels more and more tempted to do something inappropriate with someone who is under aged, then that’s obviously not a kink

it’s not just egregious to compare kinks with real world harm, it’s important to tell the difference for safety reasons too. After all, an abuser can just pretend to be against proshippers instead and this is something that happened

multiple times

And these people - they don’t understand and don’t want to understand the difference. They’re anti-kink and think anything connected to sex or sexuality is shameful - which is a direct result of not just the reappearance of religious purity culture but also the results of fandom becoming mainstream

But fandoms are just too weird and too diverse to be mainstream. This resulted in more and more people not understanding that fanworks are posted for free, because someone wanted to, or because someone wanted to share their passion, not because they want people to engage with easily digestible content that’s made for clicks or that sells

Engagement is, of course, encouraged - but vocal antis aren’t “engaging”, they’re hating. It’s hate that binds them together

And so they will twist the meanings of words or twist what is actually happening IN fandoms to spread a moral panic. They often exaggerate and lie so that more people fall for their scheme

and unfortunately - it often works. 

Victims who don’t know better end up believing that yeah, just finding someone’s fetish art accidentally or intentionally is grooming, purposely interacting with a correctly tagged piece of media they know can be triggering is grooming, it’s no longer the actions or behavior of a person who intentionally targets a child or otherwise vulnerable person to desensitize them to sex so they don’t realize they’re in a very inappropriate relationship

Historically and currently, censoring or banning “pedophilia” or “pedophiles” or cracking down on “abusers” has never actually benefitted anyone. Once we ban and censor any of it, it’ll be harder to even just talk about because we aren’t allowed to, harder to educate about because it’s forbidden and harder to go after because it gets harder to spot. 

SESTA and FOSTA aimed to protect sex workers - but it resulted in most adult oriented websites having to cease operations, sex worker exploitation harder to combat and sex workers were more and more pushed into the shadows

the NCMEC looses its funding and was forced to take down their guides to recognize and stop child trafficking because it mentioned trans victims.

The porn ban on tumblr aimed to protect children by removing child sexual abuse material - and it resulted in queer blogs getting purged instead, trans people not being able to post their post surgery pictures, discussions of safe sex, women’s sexual health and STDs were purged, sex work was banned, porn bots were not banned, white pride was promoted, violence was promoted, and actual pedophiles were and pedophilia was, and, to an extend, still is promoted

When lgbtq-phobia started to rise in the US around the early 2020’s, republicans also purged “pornographic” books - which are written by, for or about POC, are about sexual health and education, are about accepting oneself or simply show queer relationships as normal. 

And all of these things are still happening today. Censorship is a bomb that goes off - there’s no stopping it. Yet what vocal antis promote is the same authoritian regime that decides what is and isn’t harmful - and this despite claiming they’re not those kind of people. All because they’re uncomfortable that there are people who are unbothered about the ships people like unless they cause real world harm

The real world harms I’ve mentioned before can all be prevented with education - and this is something vocal antis aren’t interested in because it makes them uncomfortable, because it’s propaganda, because it nornalizes ___ and they argue in the same or similar ways as the current fascist regime in the US because that’s the environment they grew up in, this is the new normal, other people who raise alarm are just talking too much, they never want to go past their “factory settings”. 

And no, I’m not calling them fascists, they’re likely also victims of being influenced by the wrong crowd - and also because they don’t know better. Some of them do grow out of this immature behavior eventually. 

But it’s high time to finally end this discourse and fight against what’s really causing harm:

That is people with power, that is censorship, that is fascism, that’s people who get away with crimes - but not the tools they use to carry out their crimes. 

It’s okay to feel disgusted at the end of the day. It’s okay to criticize. It’s okay to say “I don’t want proshippers to interact with me”. That’s not censorship either. 

But criticism is not posting lies about people you don’t like, harassment is more than just unwanted interaction, it’s also the call to “make sure proshippers feel afraid and ashamed again” or to rally your friends into “mass reporting that bitch” and they’re someone who didn’t even know you existed in the first place

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 3

Summary: Now that you have a party to plan, you decide to start with the decorations... but Negan has a more exciting idea in mind.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Negan being an asshole, reader being an asshole too ?

previous chapter can be found here

After your vow to stay resolute in your (accidental) decision to help with the Christmas party, you vanished on Negan. He half-expected you to ambush him first thing the next morning but nothing came.  

In a perfect world, you would have gone home that day, realized your pettiness and followed Negan’s original advice. You would have humbled yourself and gone straight to Gregory, petitioning for this pain in the ass party to be called off.

“Carl! That funky eye of yours doesn’t mean your legs don’t work!” Negan shouts at one of the students in his afternoon class “Run for the ball, damn it! Quit standing on the sidelines!”.

The whistle around Negan’s neck swings as he struts along the side of the basketball court, muttering to himself. Despite the chill in the air, it’s sunny outside and so they’re not all stuck inside the sports hall, where Negan would’ve been trapped in the thick air of sweaty, hormonal teens. 

But that’s not the only reason he’s glad to be outside on the courts. After Negan’s plan backfired and filled you with spiteful devotion to the Christmas party, he can’t bear to be in the sports hall, knowing it’s only a matter of time before his colleagues wreck havoc on his little slice of heaven.

A polite cough behind him pulls him out of his thoughts. Negan is about to grumble to some kid to cover their mouth but when he glances behind, he sees you instead. 

“Fan- fucking -tastic,” Negan says drily “my day has just got ten times better”.

The sight of a notebook pressed against your chest makes him want to groan. Hoping for some kind of a miracle, he asks “You get the party cancelled yet?”.

You join him by the sidelines, smiling mischievously. “Nope,” you reply cheerfully “I think I’d rather torture you by making you help organize it instead”. 

Negan scoffs, looking back at the game. You take it as your que to continue. Looking down at your notebook you read the small list you’ve made of the different categories you’ll both have to tackle. 

Food. Drink. Music. Decorations.

You read your small list out loud before thinking “Is there anything else a party needs? I guess we could have some kinda entertainment, right?”.

With a long exhale, Negan rubs his forehead “You want a bunch of middle aged teachers to play party games?”. 

You shrug “Well, I don’t know how else to keep them entertained…”

“Booze. That’s all you need, not charades or pin the tail on the donkey”.

You write that down, encircling the drinks category before continuing “Well, I’m free for the rest of the day so whenever you want to—“.

“Christ, Patrick! Follow through on your shot!” Negan interrupts, yelling at another poor kid “better fix that limp wrist for your sake!”.

You blink at the… uh… advice, if you could call it that. 

Negan begins making his way down the side of the court, following the action surrounding the basketball as he shouts more words of wisdom. You watch with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, suddenly feeling more confident in your own, calmer teaching style.  

When Negan finally turns his attention back to you, he raises an eyebrow, his tone turning sarcastic again.

"Class ends in about ten minutes. How about we talk afterwards, so you're not following me around like a damn shadow?" he sighs, checking his watch.

Before you can retort your own thinly veiled insult, he’s off shouting at the kids again, this time clapping his arms to really amp them up.

You shake your head, grip tightening on your notebook as you turn on your heels to leave. Your plan was to just wait in his office but once you get to the door, your eyes are drawn to the adjacent double doors of the sports hall. 

If this is where you’ll be having the party, you may as well get a lay of the land now. 

Creeping inside the barren hall, it’s the quietest you’ve ever seen it. The large room is almost eerie without the clatter of basketballs or the sounds of kids shouting. You pause in the doorway, taking in the empty space. Soon, it’ll be filled with noise— this time, for the Christmas party you’ve roped yourself into.

Walking deeper into the room, you wonder how much convincing it’ll take to get Negan up on a ladder to hang tinsel and string lights across the high ceiling. The hall is desperate for some holiday ambience and your brain aches as you try to figure out just how much tinsel will be needed.

Thankfully, your phone buzzes with a welcome distraction. 

Carol: You want to be a good samaritan and help me bake some cookies after school? Need them for the bake sale 

You: Have my hands full planning party 

You: but I could be tempted if I get to taste test some :D

After you informed everyone that you will be planning the party (and to hold off on the barrage of questions), Carol was the only one who didn’t give you a pitiful look when you mentioned it being you and Negan organizing it.

“Negan’s… complicated,” she told you this morning. Surprisingly, that was the most polite description of him you’ve heard.

“Just keep your distance, keep your head down and do the work” Carol listed “he’ll complain a lot but he will get the job done. Eventually”.

Given how much people seem to dislike him, hearing a neutral take felt like a welcome shift.

Carol: you’re starting to sound like my students

You let out a soft laugh before quickly typing a reply, letting her know you’re not sure if you’ll be finished with Negan by then. As much as you hate to admit it, you know how easily you two can fall into a back-and-forth, letting the time slip away without even realizing it.

Carol replies with a thumbs up, and to kill some time, you check the group chat. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at the new messages.

You don’t blame yourself though, not when it’s where you got yourself into this mess. It’s like returning to the scene of a crime but this time you know better than to hurriedly send in a text.

Gregory: WHO GOT THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS INSTALLATION VAN CLAMPED

Gregory: HOW? WHY?????

Sasha: I told you they shouldn’t park in designated spaces 

Rosita: they had their warning

Gregory: they want to school to pay the fee

Sasha: better than slashed tires

Gregory: go to principal Grime’s office , this needs to be sorted now

Rosita: I’m in the middle of teaching a class ??

Gregory: and you’re busy texting?!?!?!?

Gregory: both of you. Principal Grime’s office. NOW

A chuckle from behind makes you shiver and jerk away, hot breath fanning against the side of your neck. Negan peers over at your phone, having read the messages.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation” he snorts, offering you a smirk as you tuck your phone away “can’t say I blame Rosita though, Gregory’s definitely the type of asshat that let them park there”.

“Yeah and you wanted me to talk to that asshat about getting this party cancelled” you grumble, irritation creeping into your tone

“In the past, sweetness,” Negan smiles just to annoy you “now we’re a team, ain’t we?”.

“In the past?! Negan, that was yesterday!” you point out exasperatedly, wandering around the hall to burn off some of your already pent up energy.

“And yesterday is in the past”.

You shoot him a glare but all that achieves is a wider grin looking back at you. Damn him. You run a hand down your face, forcing yourself to stop— both physically and mentally.

Negan’s trying to get you to bite, to start bickering with him so you’ll lose focus on the party and storm off. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to gather yourself. Unfortunately, when you open them again he still has that cocky smile on his face that makes you want to throttle him.

“Do you have any decorations from the previous years?” Your tone is sharper than necessary but that’s what he gets when he’s being a jerk.

“Usually, they’d host this shit at a fancy little place called the Kingdom, so we don’t have much” he replies, his demeanor easing now that you haven’t taken the bait.

“Really?” you question, expecting at least a worn down Christmas tree “What about things for a nativity or Christmas carols?”.

“Yeah cause nothing screams party like having the fuckin’ nativity scene laid out in the middle of the room” Negan teases, fishing keys out of the back pocket of his sweatpants.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you match his sarcasm with a dose of your own “Well, no, I’m not suggesting we all get drunk in front of baby Jesus”.

Negan lets out a small chuckle, but it sounds unfamiliar. This isn’t the mischievous laugh you heard when he tried to set you up, nor is it the smirk he gave you when you were badmouthing him.

No, this is something else. It’s a rare, genuine sound– a laugh that seems to catch even him off guard. And strangely enough, it’s aimed at you. You try not to linger on it, not wanting to make things awkward.

“If you wanna have a look yourself, knock yourself out” Negan strides over to the small storage room door and you follow behind as he unlocks it.

You stand there, waiting for him to open it but he doesn’t. Instead, Negan pauses for a moment, then he turns to face you with that familiar, smug grin.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases, letting the question hang in the air.

“I— ugh! Negan!” you scold, stepping forward and pushing the door open yourself. Negan doesn’t stop you, even flicking the light on as you go first. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Negan says, grabbing one of the boxes to prop the door open. “This shit’s old... probably as old as me, so the door’s heavy and a real bastard to yank open from the inside”.

Inside, you’re met with a chaotic mess; boxes piled on top of boxes, cones and rackets scattered across the floor, and a jumble of balls stacked on a rack against the wall.

Technically, the room is large but with all the clutter, there’s barely enough space to move around. Inching your way across a small clearing, you almost wedge yourself between two tall stacks of boxes. “Any idea which ones might have the festive goods?” you ask. 

“Pretty sure it’s the two at the back,” Negan trails after you, clearly uninterested “y’can usually see a bit of tinsel shimmering through the box”.

“This is a good start… I guess,” you try to take an optimistic approach “at least there’s something here”.

You carefully navigate through the maze of clutter, sidestepping loose javelins and dodging stray tennis balls. The mess makes every step feel like a mini obstacle course.

As you finally reach the last stack, you tug the lid off the nearest box, the dust tickling your nose. Peering inside, you slowly begin to sift through its contents—a jumble of tinsel, some baubles that have no string and a few random holiday knickknacks.

Negan leans against the next stack of boxes, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement.

“Oh wow, you’re just going straight for it, huh?” he commentates, unbothered to help “it’s like you’re on a treasure hunt… y’know if you want to find the real treasure, you’re in luck”.

You don’t bite, not believing his bullshit. Even with no response, Negan continues “I know exactly where to find the crown jewels”. He gives you a wink but you miss it, keeping your head down as you rummage.

”… hellllllloooooo?” he pokes your side.

You pull out a handful of mismatched ornaments and toss them at him. “Maybe you should stop doing nothing and actually help?” you suggest as he barely manages to catch them.

With an exaggerated sigh, Negan starts to search the second box. “I was doing something,” he protests, carelessly looking through the box “flirting, if you didn’t notice”.

“Yeah, well if that’s your idea of flirting, I pray I’m not your type” you jeer.

This time, Negan doesn’t reply. You wonder if he’s taking a page out of your book and ignoring you but then you feel his eyes land on you. 

Readying your disapproving look, you turn to meet Negan’s gaze. “What?” you ask, already annoyed by whatever shenanigan he’s about to pull. 

With the ghost of a smirk, Negan simply stares at you for a moment. He doesn’t let his eyes wander like how you expected, the action something you thought he’d do just to get a rise out of you. Wetting his lips, Negan teasingly pulls his hand out of the box, bringing with it a tattered piece of mistletoe. 

“Guess there’s only one way to find out if you’re my type” he shakes the mistletoe, accidentally making one of the plastic leaves fall off.

“Oh fuck off” you don’t stop the words coming out of your mouth, turning on your heels to leave.

Flinging the mistletoe back into the box, Negan follows. You’re half tempted to kick the box that’s keeping the door open just to lock him in, but his long strides allow him to catch up with you in no time. 

“Awh, c’mon,” he teases “are you always in ‘teacher mode’ ?”.

“Only when I’m around immature people”.

“Very funny,” Negan comments as you storm back out to the empty hall. He can tell he’s almost got you; you’re so close to walking out, yet you won’t give him the satisfaction.

Negan knows how to push people’s buttons— it's one of his favorite hobbies. He enjoys testing how much people will tolerate, seeing what it takes to crack them. For some, a single remark is enough to make them fold, while others can take a whole barrage, letting it build up bit by bit. 

The most frustrating thing about you is that you can take a lot, all while throwing your own taunts right back at him. You rub your forehead, trying to will yourself into not punching him.

“You got any classes left today?” he breaks the silence, his tone surprisingly conversational considering the amount of teasing he’s been doing. 

Every question feels like a set up for some next lewd joke or suggestion and so you simply nod your head. 

“Perfect,” he says, locking up the storage room and tossing the keys up into the air before catching them “let’s go grab some new decorations”.

You raise an eyebrow, curious, but Negan doesn’t wait around. As he strolls out of the hall, you have to quicken your pace to keep up with him.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He glances over his shoulder, speaking to you as if you’re a three year old. “we go shop, buy new decorations, you happy, party less shit looking”.

“But don’t you have classes?” you badger him, watching as Negan makes a quick stop by his office. He drops the keys onto his desk, grabs his coat, and snatches up his car keys.

“Yeah, but Mark can cover for me,” he replies casually, clearly unfazed “it’s the bastard’s last day before his vacation, he can do some extra work”.

The last thing you expected was for Negan to suggest going on a quick trip together, especially with how little you two can tolerate each other. Negan lets out a short laugh when he sees your wary expression, clearly unconcerned. 

“He’ll figure it out,” he says nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to shoot a quick text to the other coach “it’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t give Fat Joey my class, don’t trust that fucker to teach gym”.

“Negan!” you slap his arm “Rude”.

He shrugs. 

The two of you walk out of the school and head toward the teacher’s parking lot. As you look around, a wave of hesitation hits you.

Even though you don’t have any more classes to teach today, you can’t shake the feeling that leaving early feels like you’re playing hooky.

Negan notices in an instant. With a small chuckle, he places both hands on your shoulders and gives you a gentle nudge forward.

“C’mon, Ms. Goody Two Shoes,” he teases, steering you toward his pick up truck “we won’t be gone long”.

You hesitate for a moment, still unsure. “Are you sure?” you try to look up at him as he directs you toward the passenger side “I don’t mind driving myself and meeting you there”.

“No need. I’ve got it covered,” he replies, taking his hands off you to open the door. With the automatic roll of your eyes, you get in.

The car ride to the store is a mix of awkward tension and playful banter. As Negan drives, he leans back in his seat with an easy confidence. Every now and then, he throws in a flirtatious comment but for the most part, he keeps it PG.

Surprisingly, Negan actually asked about you and why you’d move to “such a backend fuckin’ town”. You grabbed the opportunity to not argue or get flirted with and instead babbled on about why you needed a break away from your hometown (making sure to skip all the family rifts and drama). 

Pulling into the Target parking lot, the familiar smirk of the Negan you know resurfaces.

"I can always make time to give ya a real tour of the town," he says, and for a brief moment, you almost believe he's being sincere—until he adds, "With or without the extra stop at mine afterwards."

You let out an exaggerated sigh as he parks, shaking your head. "You're like a comedian that only knows one joke and no matter how many times it falls flat, you just keep saying it anyways".

Negan’s eyebrows bounce up as his truck comes to a stop, his tone dripping with cockiness “Oh it works real well, 99.9% success rate”.

“Wow, you’re just like bleach” you shoot back as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

Getting out of the truck and heading into the store, he proudly replies “All I have to say is I have been told I’m killer in the bedroom, so maybe I am like bleach”.

Shaking your head, you opt for a small basket instead of dragging around a massive cart. The last thing you need is Negan laughing as you struggle to control one of those things. 

“Do you have an off switch?” You taunt. 

Taking the basket off you, Negan’s fingers brush yours. He takes full advantage, tilting to the side so his tall frame is closer to your eye level.

Lowering his voice to what you can only assume is what he uses in the bedroom, he seductively growls “Wanna try to find it?”.

The look you give him says everything, and with a sharp ‘hmph ,’ you head toward the holiday section, letting him trail behind.

As you pass the Christmas trees, you glance at them, already knowing you’ll need to check your budget before committing to one for the party. This trip feels more like a reconnaissance mission—just picking up a few affordable things if you find them while scouting what else they have to offer.

Meanwhile, Negan simply drifts by, clearly bored now that the playful banter has faded. He’s like a kid that’s been dragged into grocery shopping with his mom—picking up random items and staring at the ceiling, hoping for some kind of entertainment. 

Negan would’ve spent his time staring at your ass but he knows better than to risk it. You’d throw a nutcracker at him if you caught him perving on you.

“ Neeeeeeegan ?” You drag out his name, watching the man completely zone out.

As much as you want to give him a piece of your mind, you can’t say you’re surprised. You both knew this was going to be a pain.

The only reason you’re party planning is out of spite, while Negan’s just here because he doesn’t want his sports hall to be trashed by either terrible decorations or the teachers on the night.  

Shaking the wreath in your hands, the bells jingle and you call out again “Negan? Hello?”.

Looking back to you, his expression softens just enough to pass as a real smile rather than a smirk. “I heard you the first time, I just like hearing you say my name,” he says, his tone playful.

You scoff, fighting the urge to smile. Unfortunately, you’re human so when a handsome man throws you a compliment, it’s impossible not to react, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he can be.

… handsome ?

You quickly shove that thought aside, irritated that your brain so easily confessed that. He is handsome, but… he’s Negan. An asshole, in other words.  

Alright, time to stop thinking about that.

“I, uh…” you swallow, trying to get your thoughts in order “The wreath! If we drape a tablecloth over the desks and put one of these in front of each, that’ll look nice, right?”

Negan gives a casual nod, eyes shifting between the wreath and the rows of holiday decorations.

“I mean, the desks are just for finger food and drinks anyways but… it’ll be festive!” you find yourself rambling, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. 

He scoffs at how you try to justify spending some money a on wreath, taking a few steps toward the sales section.

“How about…” Negan starts, picking up a small pumpkin statue priced at just a dollar, “…we buy a bunch of these and throw a Christmas hat on ‘em?”

You pause, unsure whether you should dignify that with a response.

“You want to use Halloween decorations?” you drop the wreath into the basket, rubbing a hand over your face in disbelief.

“I’m getting it” he puts the pumpkin next to your wreath.

You look down at the pumpkin and purse your lips. As if this party hasn’t been doomed from the get go, you don’t think having pumpkins there will help. You don’t have to voice your concerns, Negan can read your face. 

“Hey, I’m just offering a little direction,” he says, wandering down the aisle “someone’s gotta take charge when you’re doubting whether you should buy wreaths for a Christmas party”.

A flutter of defensiveness stirs within you, a shift in your chest that spreads like a warm yet  uncomfortable pressure.

Picking up a box of lights, you drop them in the basket “I’m not doubting, I just don’t want to buy junk that we won’t use”.

Negan stops, ignoring what you just said as he picks up some balloons. “We should get these… just gotta make sure this side is at the back” he lifts up the packet, showing you the gigantic ‘Happy 60th Birthday’ printing on the front of each balloon. 

“You’re kidding,” plucking the pack out of his hands, you put it back on the shelf “and I don’t need you to take charge of this, especially when you’re doing such a half assed job”. 

Negan scoffs “Am not”.

The more you try to ignore the building in your chest, the more it festers, growing into a quiet but insistent urge to clarify, to defend and correct the narrative.

“That’s all you do! You want to be in charge but you’re not thorough enough whenever you are” you explain as calmly as you can. 

There was a small bit of you that hoped Negan would listen to what you’re saying but he’s not interested in the feedback, waving his free hand dismissively as he walks back up the aisle.

“It’s easier when I’m in charge because I get shit done, I don’t try to reason with myself why I need to buy something– I just do it,” as if to prove the point, he puts another pumpkin into the basket.

It's like he’s not even trying to understand your point, and that’s a realization that makes your patience unravel.

The calm concern starts to fade and is replaced by a barely contained annoyance. 

“But you don’t try to make things easier for others, you literally just left Mark to deal with the rest of your classes for the day and complained at the idea of Mark letting Joey help! You’re always pushing your own agenda and railroading people into going along with it” taking a firm stance against him, you do the unthinkable. 

You reach your hand into the basket.

And remove a pumpkin.

Negan gives you a pointed look, boring into your skull and not even watching your hand place the pumpkin back on the shelf.

“Sweetheart, calm down, this isn’t a military operation,” he asserts “we’re just planning a damn party so lighten up. Get festive!”.

It’s maddening. Now you’re making a mountain out of a molehill? You should just lighten up because it’s a Christmas party and nothing more?

His dismissive tone is like a constant poke to your patience, stretching it thinner with every passing moment.  To make matters worse, Negan carries on like usual, wandering over to the next aisle.

Begrudgingly, you totter after him.

“You can’t just do that!” you snap, absentmindedly perusing the scented candles “you can’t act like this is something silly when I’m giving you valid criticism! I’m trying to put in effort here and actually make this party bearable”. 

It hits all at once, a rush of raw emotion that floods your mind and spills out before you can stop it.

Your voice shakes, not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to be heard. You don’t even have time to think, to carefully choose your words; it all comes out, unfiltered.

Every bit of irritation, confusion, and disbelief tumbling out in one breathless rant.  

“All you want to do is skip school, wander around here, flirt with me– even though I keep rejecting you! And just buy stupid shit that we don’t need for this party!” you rant, gesturing to the lonely pumpkin still in the basket.

“You have to respect other people’s time and their effort too. Not everyone wants to half-ass this! You get your own way all the time and no one will say no to you or make you do it their way. It’s Negan’s way or no way. And people are so used to letting you get away with shit again and again just because—“.

You stop yourself.

Your mouth clamps shut, stopping your cathartic rant before it can say anymore but it’s too late. Negan stands next to you, waiting.

Shit.

“… I like the cinnamon one,” you say quietly, trying to change the subject as you sniff the candles  “sometimes, I think they make the gingerbread ones too strong and the ones that are supposed to smell like vanilla never do”.

Negan doesn’t budge. A small smirk creeps up on his face. Negan already knows what you were going to say, he doesn’t need anyone to tell him.

He’s attractive, good in the sac, can charm the legs off anyone within a ten mile radius and happens to have one swoon worthy smile.

He gets away with this because he’s sexy. Nothing he can do about that, it’s natural!

“Go on,” he implores, tongue peeking out as he wets his bottom lip “say it with your chest, doll”.

You want to stay quiet. You know for the interest of everyone, you should. 

“People let you be an asshole because your wife died”.

You’ve never seen a change in someone so quick. His face darkens, veins pulsing at his temples as his jaw clenches so tight that his teeth almost grind together.

Negan’s eyes narrow into a hard, unforgiving stare. Every muscle in his body seems to coil, as if ready to snap. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” he grunts. 

You’ve never seen him like this— not even when you’ve bickered with him. This is something different, something deeper.

His entire demeanor has shifted, like a switch was flipped, and all the previous irritation and taunting have been replaced by a quiet, seething fury that radiates from him in waves.

Your fingers curl around the candle but you barely register the sensation. Your eyes lock on him, wide and unblinking. He told you to say it, to be honest with him. 

Every muscle in your body feels frozen, as if something inside you has short-circuited. You’ve always thought you’d know what you’d do in a moment like this, whether you’d be a flight or fight type of person. But now, facing a full wave of intimidation, you realize the truth: you’re not the fight type. You’re not the flight type. 

You’re the freeze type.

It’s as if the air around you has thickened, the space between you and him narrowing to a suffocating stillness. You want to stutter out an apology but it’s all happened so suddenly that you forget how to. 

It feels like all you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot. In an instant, he snaps out of his silent rage and rushes into action. 

Without warning, Negan lets go of the shopping basket, letting it drop to the ground with a violent clatter. The sound cuts through the air like a gunshot and you jump.

His hands are still clenched into fists as he takes a step back and his eyes flash one last time at you with an unreadable mix of frustration and something deeper.  And then, he spins on his heel and storms off.

“Fuck this,” you hear muttered under his breath as he goes. 

You’re left standing there, the abruptness of it all taking the air from your lungs. Your legs take jittery steps forward before you meekly grab the basket and try to follow. 

With only a pumpkin, some lights and a wreath inside, the basket somehow pulls at your arms, as if you’re carrying a thousand things. Trying to follow, the basket swings awkwardly in your grasp, banging against your shins with each uncoordinated step.

“Negan?” You call out, your voice sounding smaller than you mean it to. Your gaze darts nervously from aisle to aisle and across the registers until you spot a tall and imposing shadow going out the main doors.

“No, no, no, no, no,” your heart thuds painfully against your chest, each beat louder than the last.

You set the basket down gently, almost afraid it might shatter if you move too quickly, before rushing out of the store. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s no relief. This can’t be happening. He can’t just leave you here. Not like this.

You move fast, almost stumbling, your eyes scanning the parking lot frantically. Cars of every make and model line the pavement, but there’s no sign of his truck.

A pang of panic rises in your throat as you take a few more steps, searching the sea of vehicles, your stomach tightening with every second that passes. His truck should be here. It should’ve been parked right where you left it.

The realization hits you like a wave. It’s not here.

A soft whine escapes your lips, barely a sound and yet it carries the weight of everything that’s suffocating you in that moment. Confusion. Anxiety. Guilt. And an overwhelming sense of abandonment. You stand frozen, the noise of the parking lot fading as the panic surges again. 

He’s gone.

-------

gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3

[bloodstainedobsession]

May I have some Jealous and Yandere Azusa headcanons 😊

Of course! Love jealousy headcanons!!! Hope you´ll enjoy, Thank you for your request!

Jealous! Azusa x Reader Headcanons

Tags: Azusa Mukami x reader, obsessive azusa, possessiveness, jealousy, sfw

Masterlist

~Azusa is completely and utterly obsessed with you. His love for you isn’t just affection, it’s a need, a hunger. The idea that anyone else could take your attention away from him is like a threat to his very existence.

~He’s not one for subtlety when it comes to his feelings, so expect him to constantly remind you that you’re his, especially when others are around.

~When Azusa gets jealous, it’s not in a loud, obvious way. Instead, his jealousy manifests in cold, calculated silence. His gaze will turn dark, and his usual soft smile will slip, replaced by something far more dangerous.

~He’ll watch you with eyes that seem to see everything, his body tense and rigid. Even if he doesn’t say anything right away, you’ll feel the weight of his jealousy hanging in the air.

~Azusa will keep you close, always making sure you’re by his side, especially when there are other people around. If someone even looks at you the wrong way, you’ll feel his hand on your arm, gently pulling you away from the situation. If you protest, his voice will lower, smooth as velvet but with an edge that suggests you should never argue with him about this.

~He’ll remind you that you belong to him, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

~If Azusa notices anyone getting too close to you, especially someone who shows interest in you, he’ll start subtly undermining that relationship. He might “accidentally” interrupt conversations, find reasons to keep you occupied so you can’t interact with others, or even make others uncomfortable around you.

~If someone keeps pushing the boundaries, Azusa may escalate things by isolating you completely. "You're all I need, Little One," he'll whisper, justifying his actions in his twisted mind.

~Azusa will give you gifts, often things that seem sweet at first. Soft blankets, delicate flowers, and trinkets that are meant to remind you of him. But as his jealousy grows, his gifts will take on a darker edge. You’ll start receiving things that feel possessive, like lockets with his name on them, or keys to rooms you aren’t supposed to enter. When you try to express discomfort, he’ll soothe you, telling you he’s just doing it for your own safety, because he can’t let anyone else near you.

~Azusa may not be the type to directly spy on you, but he will certainly know where you are at all times. His favorite thing is to watch you when you aren’t aware of him, observing your interactions with others from the shadows.

~His jealousy will rise when he sees someone getting too close or being overly familiar with you, and in those moments, he may approach you with that soft, loving smile of his, only for his words to betray his feelings. "Did you enjoy talking to them?" he might ask, the sweetness in his tone masking the underlying question of whether or not he should be worried.

~If Azusa’s jealousy finally gets the better of him, you’ll witness an outburst of possessive rage. It won’t be like a violent tantrum, but more like a breakdown, an eruption of all the emotions he’s been bottling up. His voice will crack with a pained desperation as he demands that you choose him, that you stop seeing anyone else, that you’re his and only his. In these moments, his true yandere nature shows itself, and he’s unpredictable. He might cry or get angry, but no matter how it manifests, he’ll always demand your attention, your love, and your full devotion.

~Despite his overwhelming need to possess you, Azusa is deeply insecure. He’s constantly questioning if you truly love him, if you want him as much as he wants you. When he sees you interact with someone else, his paranoia flares up. He’ll sometimes pull away, hiding his hurt behind that ever-present, melancholic expression, as if he’s afraid of being abandoned.

~He won’t admit it, but he’ll seek reassurance from you over and over again. “You love me, don’t you?” he’ll whisper, desperate for confirmation that his fears are unfounded.

~Azusa doesn’t just get jealous of strangers, his brothers are fair game too. If he catches even the slightest hint of affection or attention coming from any of his siblings, especially someone like Kou or Yuma, he’ll lose his temper.

~He’ll show up at the worst times, “accidentally” interrupting their conversations, pulling you away from them, or trying to isolate you from them. His jealousy knows no bounds, and even his own family is no exception.

~If someone dares to get too close or causes you any distress, Azusa will react without hesitation. His method might be indirect, manipulating situations to ensure the person is ostracized, creating misunderstandings, or quietly threatening them in a way that leaves them fearing for their safety. You’ll start to notice people avoiding you, whispering in corners, and though they don’t say it outright, you’ll feel the weight of Azusa’s silent threats in every word they don't say. No one gets to touch what’s his.

[brittle-doughie]

Hello CCCC Anon here, 4th time i've sent this so sorry if I seem impatient. It's been a while since I've sent an ask mainly because I couldn't think of anything but here I am!

For some reason I've grown strongly close to one-sided Logical y/n and Royal icing cookie where Royal icing cookie tries to initiate a relationship and flirt with them multiple times, but logical y/n is not only too egotistical and loves themselves(side note: they still care for others to some extent), but is also just plain rude, very blunt with their hatred of Royal icing cookie, and is too focused on finding ways to get themselves and the other halves to become whole(y/n).

They can and WILL reject Royal icing cookie harshly since they know how terrible of a cookie he is cause of him being unhealthily obessed like his sister, the other halves, especially y/n's logical side know this.

Not only that; despite them claiming to be emotionless, they can emotionally lash out, mainly out of anger, resulting to them having a higher chance of inflicting violence on others, on purpose or not. Recovery from injuries inflicted by them may take a long time or not be able to recover from them at all, as Logical side y/n's nearly entire body is made up of strong metals and not sugary sweets; they will not apologize not matter how many times you try to get them to.

So please do include this at the end where instinctual side y/n holding back an angry logical side from accidentally killing off royal icing cookie who's laying on the floor and now has to deal with a severe injury inlicted on him (and somehow survived idk how but he did) by y/n's logical side, because as emotionless they claim to be, they still have flaws mixed in them and the other halves from y/n splitting into three.

So I propose one-sided logical y/n and Royal icing cookie based on these lyrics!

"I love you!

I love you not.

I love you~!

I love you not.

Should I take or should I break your heart?

Should I take or should I break your heart?"

The lyrics are short yes but better than nothing really. If you want the song then it's called "love you, love you not" by little purr man.

Anyway imma move back into the shadows til I got a new idea, Farewell!

Sincerely- CCCC Anon

Yooo @/scarabeeart, probably should’ve asked sooner if it’s all good to tag you for Royal Icing mentions, whoops.

Unfortunately, logic simply doesn’t mix with a determined cookie that by all means wants to claim the hand of the one he adored and the answer of no only makes me ponder on his APPROACH rather than Logical’s geunine disinterest.

It would come to ahead where Logical would lash out at Royal Icing, tired of having to tell him over and over that they’ll never like him to the degree that he does for them. Instinct has to step in and calm down Logical, as Royal Icing clutched his face with the bruise of the smack.

And yet, something that his sister would do…

He only focused on that Logical PAID ATTENTION to him, never the strike. He saw it as his efforts working and will act to double them so, maybe the next time will be the one where he finally gets their hand.

Much to Logical’s irritation, of course.

[livewireprojects]

Sonadowtober 2024 Day 3

I dunno if this counts as a sfw thing due to the fact accidental pregnancy comes into play.

Day 3 was accidents I have an oneshot I wanted to work on but it'll take a while so this is taking it's place. I almost wanted to add Commander Towers next to Venice & Silver(like he's just keeping an eye on them while the family goes to deal with Jet) but I gave up after a while, the only reason he was going to be there was because the journal that comes with physical copies of Sonic x Shadow Generation preorders admits Towers was a "happy accident" when explaining why he was even on the Ark.

For context Jet put "happy accident"/"happy accident 2" shirts on Venice & Silver because he thought it'd be funny. Sonic is embarrassed while the rest of his family is ready to strangle a certain bird because it's awkward to talk about.(Mephiles is trying to stay calm because someone needs to keep an eye on Sonic & the kids)

I never really talked about this cause it never came up but Venice & Silver were accidents, Sonic doesn't regret having them & loves his sons but they weren't planned. He ended up having them thanks to two separate incidents were Sonic went with Mephiles or tagged along with Shadow to the same Eggman base. They ended up in a room with a weird cloning machine & then once the whole thing with the machine was over with they had to escape though Shadow destroyed the machine before leaving.

Sonic kind of had a bad experience with this base as Mephiles went missing(thanks to Eggman) after they checked the base out & later learned he was expecting.(Made worse by knowing Mephiles wouldn't leave him) He only went back because he was worried about Shadow & it led to the machine not only being destroyed but having a big fight with Shadow that both regretted later. There's also the fact that after learning he's expecting Silver, Eggman captured him & Venice.

Things worked out but on top of how awkward it is to mention both his sons weren't planned Sonic has some bad memories thanks to the base this all started with. Jet doesn't know this & is about to learn the hard way not to mess with a certain family of hedgehogs.(He should be very lucky Jules didn't find out)

-

Venice's shirt: Happy Accident Silver's shirt: Happy Accident 2 Jet gave them the shirts

Shadow: *Heading off to deal with Jet* I'm going to strangle that bird Sonia: *Leaving with Shadow to deal with Jet* I'll help you with that. Pretty sure Manic has a head start.(As in Manic went ahead of them to deal with Jet)

Mephiles who is comforting Sonic: I'll just stay here with Sonic

Sonic is curled up in a ball due to embarrassment & is the embarrassed mother of two very confused hoglets

Link to Sonadowtober theme list

[chil-aglia]

𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗜𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

~𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚~

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

Art above is done by me. PLEASE feel free to make your own art and idk tag me in it or something—

Warnings: Being hit (briefly), murder (briefly), blood (briefly), etc

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The loud and eerie noise of a blade slashing in the air was heard, followed by the gurgling noise of someone choking and falling to the ground with a heavy thump.

The red ooze of blood pooling out as the yokai lays limply on the floor, their eyes wide and mouth open agape. Standing by was a tall figure in the shadows, having their sword clenched in their hand as they observed the lifeless body. They were fit, given the body armor they wore, as a small light of green skin from their fingers and mouth visible.

The blade dripped in blood before being swiped off with a simple flick. The mystery silhouette crouches down, picking up a vial of green liquid that fell out of their pockets.

One of two vials recovered. The other vial in the paws of some mystic creature who stole it from under Baron Draxum’s nose.

This vial that was now just received had also been stolen, but only a week ago by some low life crook who thought they could sell it in the black market. Rookie mistake for boasting it about it online with the whereabouts of where they lived.

”Moron.” The figure spoke lowly, as he clenched the vial in his hand and turned away. He can return back to Baron Draxum now that his little mission was completed, which granted did take maybe an hour or so tops to actually do something, but the tall mystery stranger was having a pleasant time going at his own pace.

Even stopping by a cafe to grab a drink.

Content with himself he vanishes into the shadows, leaving the body for the Hidden City police to deal with.

-----

Upon arriving back at Draxum’s place, the figure groans and stretches his arms out, walking around as he expected to be met with his boss or even the two gargoyles. But nothing of the sort happened, making him grow suspicious of the silence.

Where is everyone?

He hums, walking around the living room where he thought Huginn and Muninn would be sleeping in their dog bed.

Must be in the lab then.

He began making his way to the elevator that would descend him down into the underground lab that Draxum spent most of his free time in. But halfway there, the building shook, making him become alarmed and on high alert.

It came from the lab below as he clicked his tongue and raced towards the elevator, pounding his finger on the button as he descended down, tapping his foot impatiently as he wondered what the hell was that loud noise and what caused the building to shake like that.

When he arrived at the lab, he quickly ran out, overlooking the ground floor as he was on the second floor above.

His eyes narrowed and he caught a glimpse of…well, everything.

Five unfamiliar figures stood in front of Draxum, each holding onto a weapon. From the looks of it, they were the weapons from the storage room, the mystical ones that even he wasn’t allowed to touch.

His eyes travelled over to see a large golem lying unconsciously on the floor, coming to the conclusion that was the reason why the building had shaken like an earthquake hit earlier.

He watched from above as his Master, Draxum, slowly claps, “Accidentally impressive. With a little bit of training, you could be as formidable as I’d hoped." He noted, smirking upon the idea.

What?

He shakes his head and regains his attention on the human—a human?! Here in the Hidden City? Here in Draxum’s home?

He narrowed his eyes when the human girl was flying overhead, being carried by Huginn and Muninn. “It’s okay! I got this!" She assured the others to which the unnamed figure turns his attention back onto them.

Taking in their appearance with confused and curious eyes. They were turtles, all different species but turtles nonetheless. He began to ponder, he knew Draxum used to have turtles before they were destroyed in the previous lab explosion. So this couldn’t possibly be them…right?

The turtle wearing a blue mask coughs, standing up from the pile of debris. “Okay, well, great, and since you’re surrendering—“ He began only to be cut off when Draxum laughed.

“Baron Draxum does not surrender."

“Okay, well, when he gets here, we’ll deal with him—oh, ho, ho, I see. You’re doing that whole ‘sinister talking in the third person’ thing." The turtle smirks, a look of cockiness plastered on his face as the larger of the four, donned in a red mask, jumps back onto their feet.

“Only Raph can use the third person! All right, guys, time to put our training to use." He announces, running off towards the yokai. The figure's first instinct was to rush in, protect his Master, but he also knew very well that Draxum can take care of himself, so pushing back the instincts eating away at him, he remained crouched on the second floor, observing the fight.

Draxum’s arms begin growing huge from his mystic powers, before he blocks all their strikes, grunting when he decides to hit the ground with both fists, the concussion of the ground cracking apart throws the turtles back and off balance.

They groan and rub their heads as Baron Draxum stands tall.

“And that’s why Baron Draxum—“

Huginn suddenly falls from above and hits Draxum on the head, making the yokai hiss in annoyance. “I’m sorry, boss." He apologised in a daze before passing out.

The figure raises his eyes in curiosity when the human girl suddenly lands on ground and beats on Muninn, grabbing Huginn in her teeth and shaking him like a dog toy while she stomps repeatedly on Muninn. Pausing, she looks at the turtles and gives a thumbs up, which they return the gesture.

She spat out Huginn and kicked Muninn away, turning back around to confidently grin at Draxum who glared back. The human held their bat in their hands, tapping it against her palm.

“All right creep! Free the dog thingy! Aprilllll O’Neil!”

Holding her bat high in the air, she jumps up, smirking confidently as Draxum scowls at her appearance. He holds his hand out to summon his vines to capture her. But he didn’t get the chance when a dark figure jumped down from above, crashing right into April and pinning her down, sword impaling the ground next to her head.

April’s eyes went unfocused for a moment, dizzy when she collided with the hard ground and the sudden weight of someone smacking right into her. She groans, looking up at her attacker.

The attacker wasn’t human, that much she could tell with their green skin. The stranger wore a black bandanna atop of their head that covered most of their face, leaving only their mouth and eyes seen. It resembled that of Donnie and Raph’s own masks, with this mask having longer tails.

April also noticed how the stranger wore a dark green body armoured suit with a silver armored chest piece that resembled a lot like a turtle plastron. A silver belt across their waist, followed by black shorts that connected down to their legs who also had bits and pieces of armor metal on them, followed by dark greyish brown mesh on their knees. Their covered feet matching the dark green bodysuit with large metal like talons as toes appear at the end.

The figure wore brownish grey gloves, leaving only their green three-fingers exposed.

What the…?

April stared, eyes wide and a little scared at the deadly look the non-human creature was giving her. April returns her eyes to give another once overlook of their face, noticing red markings that reached just under their eyes. In fact, the more she observed, the more she began to become puzzled. Aware that this stranger was looking quite similar to a certain blue masked turtle that was currently with his brothers.

“…L-Leo?”

Her voice was shaky, catching the oxygen that left her when she was pinned down, having the air knocked out of her lungs earlier. The stranger couldn’t help but tilt their head.

”Who?” The stranger responded with confusion but also uninterested since he shook his head and stood tall. He raised his weapon high in the air to strike down at the human, but he didn’t get a chance when a rocket launched at him, catching him off guard completely as he jumped back.

He luckily dodged the attack, glaring over at the turtles as the rocket launched came from the turtle in purple. The human, April, scurried back towards the others.

”April! You okay?” The blue masked mutant turtle checks over his human friend as Draxum turns his gaze to the attacker.

”Three!”

The figure slightly flinched, as he breathed in and stood up straight, sword gripped tightly in hand. “Master Draxum.” He greeted back, as Donnie tilted his head upon the reaction.

”Three? What, you counting down? Or you simply forgot one and two?” His sarcasm escaped him before he could even think of what to say, he gulled upon the glare and low growl from the mystery guy who attacked April.

Donnie could only simply presume that the unknown stranger’s name was actually Three. Like seriously? Who is named Three?

Draxum eyed Three before he turns back around to the intruders and shoots brownish liquid at April first, transforming the liquid into a cocoon that traps her. “You did not just do that to our friend!” The smallest of the turtles exclaims, throwing his end of the from the mystic weapon, both Draxum and Three dodge easily, leaning back as the chain fires past them.

But it didn’t come back, making Three and Draxum turn to see the ball at the end spinning and erupting into flames, laughing maniacally.

"Whoa. Magic weapon—ah!”

It yanks him forward and then flies around, taking him on a wild ride as Three steps back, narrowing his eyes before focusing his attention on the others. Raising his sword he itches to charge in while they are distracted, but Draxum stops him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

Three blinks, staring up at his Master who merely observed the flying turtle who had eventually hit a section of the ooze tank and broke it.

He yells and screams, as the end of the Kusari-fundo continues to laugh and turn into a flaming face.

It sped over to Draxum and Three who the two both jumped aside before it could even hit them, unfortunately for the one getting dragged, he landed on the ground with a loud thump.

“Mikey, that was awesome. How’d you do that?" The largest of the turtles asks with curiosity and wonder, “I don’t know, man. I was just swinging my weapon, like this, and all of a sudden—“ Mikey, as Three just learned, proceeded to show what he did earlier before the weapon once more flames up.

“Just like tha—!” He soars off again as Three scoffs, crossing his arms. He should really just end this, but for some odd reason, Draxum won’t let him. He hoped his Master wasn’t actually considering recruiting these four.

"Let me try. Magic weapon, magic weapon, magic weapon, magic weapon!” The red masked turtle slams his tonfa’s together, red sparks flying off it.

“Aw, yeah! Magic weapon!”

It however explodes and knocks him down.

"Can’t wait to find out what mine does!” The blue masked turtle announces, gripping the ōdachi in his hands as he sprints towards Draxum and Three. Instinctively, Three got in front of Draxum, his sword raised up and ready to block. But to his surprise and confusion for the three of them, when the ōdachi was swung, nothing happened. Had he missed?

The turtle gulped and awkwardly laughed, as well as sweating. Three huffs, annoyed by all this as he flips his katana to the side, he glanced up, raising his brow when the ōdachi suddenly sparks to life, a blue portal opening above and beneath the sword wielder who blinked and yelps, trying to run out but was too late.

He was caught in the rift of the portal, “Get…me…off…this…ride! Whoa!" He pleads, earning a groan from Three. Suddenly Donnie slides in, standing next to Draxum. “And that’s why I like fighting the old-fashioned way, with impossibly futuristic high-tech weaponry." He claims, swiping his bō at Draxum who jumps back.

Three swiftly got in between them, blocking the attack and kicking Donnie in the stomach, the turtle groaning before gasping as he blocked a strike of the blade.

Three was locked in, dodging and manoeuvring his way around Donnie to find an opening. He jumps up, roundhouse kicking Donnie in the face as the latter grunts and falls to the ground.

Three stood in front of him, gripping his katana and thrusting it towards his down opponent. “Don’t kill him!” Draxum orders, making Three halt in his attack, inches away from skewering the mutant.

Don’t kill?

Three opens his mouth to retort, only to be caught off guard when Donnie slapped his blade away with his bō staff, the tech bō forming a rocket as it launches off and hits Three in the face, the latter stumbling back.

”Bastard…” Three hisses as Donnie could only grin in pride, "Just like I planned it!" He announces, jumping into the air while spinning his staff.

"Look out!"

Mikey smashes into Donnie, the two flying away and crashing into the wall with the others. Draxum scoffs, "You fight like untrained buffoons!” He exclaims, Three nodding in agreement, as he stands next to his Master.

”But under me, you could become true warriors.”

”What?! You can’t be serious about that Master!” Three exclaims, wide eyed as Draxum throws pellets that formed cocoons around the turtles. “Master, we don’t need these bozos. You have me instead.” Three argues slightly, hand on his chest as Draxum glares down at him.

”You don’t realise who they are, don’t you?”

Who they are…?

”Why should I care?”

Draxum smirks, grabbing Three by the shoulders and turning him around to face the trapped turtles who watch with curiosity and annoyance.

”They’re your brothers after all.”

Draxum grabs the mask off Three, tearing it off and exposing his face. Three himself blinked owlishly, still registering what was said to him.

Brothers?

The turtles gasp and widely stare as Mikey looks between Three and his brother in blue. “L-Leo! He looks just like you!” He announces the obvious, and it was true, the two were scarily similar with only slight differences, one being that Three had two smaller crescent shaped moons on his face.

”I knew I wasn’t crazy!” April jumps into her cocoon, as Leo silently stares. “What the…?” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the turtle ahead of him.

“Three, you recall the time I told you about the other turtle experiments, yes?”

”S…somewhat.”

Draxum hums, gesturing to Leo. “This one is your biological twin. Number Two.” He reminded as both Three and Leo share a startled outage of bewilderment.

Three did recall the story of him and his…and the others. How they died in the explosion, leaving him to be the only survivor.

But yet, here they are…alive and healthy.

”You gotta be kidding me.” He hisses under his breath, taking in the information. "Turtles, now that you know you have another family member, why are you trying to stop my plans? We are all in this together!" Draxum announces, stepping towards them as Donnie yelps when he nods his head to look up.

“Ah, hey, I don’t know if this is part of your plan, but the lab’s about to explode!”

What?!

Three snapped out of his trance, turning around in a hurry to see the tank that contained the ooze begin sparking out and eventually exploded. Debris came hurtling down towards Draxum.

“Master Draxum!”

Three announces, jumping in and shoving his creator out of the way in time. The tower buzzes and the rest of the infrastructure starts falling. 

The containment of the Oozesquitoes breaking open as the bugs escape. Three however was more focused on helping Draxum escape, coughing as dust from the crashing debris lifted in the air.

He headed toward the doorway to leave, having Draxum leaning on him to not fall over. Three paused, turning back to stare at the intruders who all teleported out of the cocoons by the mystic creature that Draxum caught.

Three glares, noticing the brief glance from Leo who stretched his hand out toward him, as though he wanted to say something.

”Three, let’s go.” Draxum scolds lightly, pushing his creation towards the door as Three hums in acknowledgement and walks out. Huginn and Muninn flying after them.

-----

Hours after the destruction of Draxum’s stronghold, the yokai, the gargoyles and the mutant Three resided in a hotel room. Being the only place available for them on such short notice.

Three stripped off his armoured suit, rolling his shoulders and neck to get feeling back into them as he side eyes Draxum who was standing by the window, looking out in deep focus.

”You said they were dead.”

Draxum hums in acknowledgement, “I believed that they were. Seeing them tonight was a first for me.” He muttered, letting out an exhale as he sat down on the bed, exhausted from today. Three stared at him and narrowed his eyes.

”They're a bunch of nobodies. You don’t need them.”

”Three—“

”I’m more than capable of being by your side. They would only get in the way. Did you see the way they even handled the mystic weapons?”

Draxum began growing annoyed, standing up on his feet and advancing towards Three who was ranting, unaware of Draxum behind him. “You should’ve just let me kill them—“ He stated, turning around with a little grin. Only for said expression to be completely wiped off when he was backhanded.

Three grunts, holding his face as he winced at the stinging sensation.

”Enough. You will not kill them. In fact, I need them on my side in order to make my plans become a success.”

He stands tall over Three who looks away, lips firmly in a line as he bowed in respect.

”Yes…”

”Yes, what?”

Three bites the inside of his cheek as he exhaled out a breath he was holding in.

”Yes, Master Draxum.”

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WHOOO BITTW IS FINALLY OUT! How we fall feeling?

APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

Quotev - Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Ao3 - Blood Is Thicker Than Water - Chapter 1 - Chilaglia - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

First chapter here

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