#the killing tree 2022

[anerol152]

I just found the best movie

Just, the tree has a knife. A knife. I don't care it's probs a bad slasher, The trailer is hilarious.

[moviesandmania]

THE KILLING TREE (2022) Reviews of demonic Christmas tree horror - free to watch online

‘Deck the halls …with blood!’ The Killing Tree is a 2022 British horror film about an ancient spell that brings an executed man as a demonic Christmas tree! Directed, co-produced and co-edited by Rhys Frake-Waterfield (Peter Pan’s Neverland Nightmare; Dinosaur Prison; Rise of the Loch Ness; Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey; Sky Monster; Firenado) from a screenplay co-written with Craig McLearie…

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for not wanting to go out for dinner with Granddaddy?

CW: long post

My (43, FtM) husband's (39,M) family experienced several very grievous losses, including my husband's stepdad and his maternal grandmother, in 2022. MIL is not taking things well, which is to be expected, but she has a tendency to use hubby's deceased dad against him if he can't or does not wish to do something (e.g. bursting into tears and going "I wish your dad was still here, he would have known how to fix the chainsaw and trimmed the trees!" "I wish your dad was still here, HE wouldn't have told me to call a plumber for the toilet!" Also going on utterly unrelated rants that upset everyone in our home and blaming it on her grief.) Worth noting she hasn't ever pulled these tricks with hubby's younger brother (27M) despite him living with her. Also worth noting that she has said some really nasty things about me, my gender and sexuality over the last few years simply because I encourage him to stand up for himself, and has apologised to him but never to me. Nonetheless, we are family and we abide. (This is relevant backstory, I do not need to be told she sucks, we been knew.)

PRESENT! Since Grandmother (hubby's grandmother, who hated me even more openly than MIL does for being trans and turning her grandson gay, and always played her kids, grandkids and great grandkids against each other) died, Granddaddy (84M, hubby's grandfather) has been a bit at sea. "NTA!" i can hear you shouting, but Granddaddy is actually a solid dude-- has never misgendered me, is unfailingly kind to me and has always made me feel like part of the family in a way *no one else* in hubby's family does. He's lovely, funny, intelligent-- used to work in aeronautics and loves that i love his sci fi books, and adores exchanging silly cheesy jokes with me when we hang out. He's *great!* 10/10 Granddaddy.

MIL is of the opinion that Graddaddy needs to be taken out to dinner *every night*. He can never have a night alone; he can never call an uber to go out by himself; and we certainly cannot make a meal and take it to his home to eat in. He MUST be taken out to dinner EVERY night because it's the only social interaction he gets.

It's killing our wallet, y'all-- we aren't poor, but we have three kids. We've whittled it down to us taking him out twice a week, but he doesn't want to go to McDonald's, he wants to go to the local Italian or fish place, and it's *not* cheap, especially when paying for six! MIL "takes him out" five times a week (which usually means dropping him off and going to the gym while he makes waitresses uncomfortable because he's from a different generation), but she has decided two days a week are on us (we aren't just going to drop him for play dates because that doesn't make him OR the waitstaff happy!). Mind, we never agreed to this-- she just decided it, and if we argue against it we get hysterics about hubby's dad.

I am autistic and truly do not like going out more than a couple times a month at most. I have urgently suggested that I could make dinner at Granddaddy's a couple times a month, but this is NOT acceptable according to MIL. We HAVE to go out, he's GRIEVING and LONELY, isn't he?

No, no one has actually asked Granddaddy how he would feel about this, and I am a monster for even asking them to.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[luminalunii97]

Civil disobedience, act 4: art and symbols

Demonstration art could be one of the most powerful ways to convey your message. Iranians have been making art all over the cities these days.

Painting the city with blood: Putting red color in water bodies around the city. throwing red color at street signs specially those that reads Velayat (supreme leading system), hijab, and Kurdistan. putting red blood on pictures of Khamenei, Ghasem Soleimani, and police or judiciary signs. Coloring the university classes and corridors with red. One art classroom door in Alzahra university read "this classroom is covered in blood". These red colors represent the blood the regime has shed.

Pictures on the walls: Faces of our fallen martyrs. Anti regime pictures. They read: "you kill our love, you are our ISIS" "women life freedom" "women of Iran and Afghanistan against the violence of Talib and mullah" "fuck compulsory hijab" "from 2017 to 2022 this regime would fall like dominos" "ambu-lice (ambulances are being used to move policemen)". A religious figure hide behind religion playing his anti riot forces. On an alley named Azadi (freedom) someone has written "there was so much bravery hidden in this land".

(It's important to know that in Iran, mullahs don't represent religion as much as they represent the regime. For 40 years the turbans have been the heads of political powers. Most of those mullah pictures are directly targeting Khamenei the supreme leader)

Slogans on paper money: these ones say "women life freedom" "queer life freedom" "Baloch life freedom".

Khodanoor Lejei, symbol of the islamic republic cruelty: The bloody Friday in Zahedan was one of the darkest spots in Islamic republic brutal history. Opening fire on a crowd of praying Muslims before they even start protesting. Killing about 100 people of Baloch. But one picture stood out and stood as the face of inhumanity of the regime. Khodanoor Lejei was one of the victims of bloody Friday in Zahedan. An old picture of him went viral after his death. He was arrested a couple of months prior to Mahsa Amini murder and was treated with no dignity. Bound to a pole. water in front of his thirsty body but out of his reach. So in universities, sport games, streets and alleys people have been posing Khodanoor in bound to protest the cruelty. In the last two pictures, the signs read "political" (سیاسی) and "justice" (عدالت)!

Students sing revolution anthems. Artists make digital arts. Musicians make revolution songs. People dance and the security forces attack and arrest them.

There have been balloons flying over the cities with banners containing slogans on them. There have been banners on footbridges situated so that drivers would see them. People also have been writing slogans on billboards especially those that promote regime propaganda.

Azad university art students gathered in their campus, painted their palms red and raised their hands to the sky.

Meanwhile the regime forces broke into dormitories and stole students.

Some universities including mine design their campus trees and buildings with names of the murdered protesters or captured students and other revolution symbols (red tulip represents martyrs in Persian literature). The uni authorities take them down but the art students do it again.

After Kian Pirfalak, all over the country you could find paper boats and rainbows. Kian was a 10 year old boy who was murdered by the regime. There's a video of him starting with "in the name of the god of the rainbow" and continuing to explain his crafted boat. He wanted to become an engineer. Now paper boats are banned in universities.

One of the murdered protesters, Hamidreza Rouhi, loved riding motorcycles. He had a video online of him on a motorbike lip syncing to a song and pointing to the camera. A group of motorbike riders in Tehran, 7 day after his murder, gathered in front of his house, their motorbikes lined nearby, with pictures of him on each bike.

And in a recent symbolic act, a woman walked around Tehran streets as The Handmaid's Tale cosplayer. Very on point.

Don't think for a second that these civil ways of protesting are safe or easy. People have been arrested or shot in the head doing these.

People are capable of beauties but the regime can only make ugliness. That's the summary of this revolution.

[dontforgetukraine]

Today is the 83rd anniversary of the Babyn Yar Massacre.

Over two days from September 29-30, 1941, the Nazis shot over 30,000 Jews in Kyiv. Entire families were forced to walk down to the ravine on the "Road of Death". Around 100,000 people were killed at Babyn Yar during the Nazi occupation.

Babyn Yar is a terrifying symbol, showing that the most heinous crimes occur when the world chooses to ignore, remain silent, stay indifferent, and lacks the determination to stand up against evil. When the eyes of the world are closed, humanity loses. Babyn Yar is vivid proof of the atrocities that regimes are capable of when led by leaders who rely on intimidation and violence. —Volodymyr Zelenskyy

The site of Babyn Yar and its memorials (like the large menorah above) have increased in significance since Russia's full scale invasion. It was attacked in March 2022. The most iconic memorials escaped damage, but the main grounds suffered burnt and uprooted trees and damage to a building that was designated to be used for a museum (it had not been in use yet at that time).

After the attack in 2022, the chair of Babyn Yar's advisory board, Natan Sharansky said, "It is symbolic that [Russian President Vladimir Putin] starts attacking Kyiv by bombing the site of the Babyn Yar, the biggest Nazi massacre."

As Russia has frequently done, Sharansky said Putin had sought to "distort and manipulate the Holocaust to justify an illegal invasion of a sovereign democratic country." Russian propaganda has frequently called Ukraine a country of "neo-nazis" and that Russia's goal is to "denazify" Ukraine.

This isn't the first time Russia has tried to manipulate and erase history, especially when it comes to Babyn Yar.

"They physically tried to destroy these graves and delete the history, it's unbelievable how important it was for Soviets to change the nature of the place," Sharansky said. "There were so many attempts to erase Babyn Yar and change its nature, finally we turned it into a big memorial, and that is once again overshadowed by Russian aggression."

For decades under Soviet rule, the victims of Babyn Yar were only referred to as "Soviet" victims with no mention of Jews being the main victims. Finally, the large menorah memorial was erected in the 1990s under an independent Ukraine.

Source: Babyn Yar: Anger as Kyiv's Holocaust memorial is damaged

These photos show the Mirror Field installation to honor the victims of Babyn Yar. The memorial has visual and audio components to it that visitors can experience.

The main symbol is the Tree of Life, which is found in many religions and mythologies around the world. "The Babyn Yar tragedy shows how easily this tree can be destroyed, and its branches — broken."

This memorial is entirely made of stainless steel, with the main podium being a mirror disk of 40 meters in diameter accompanied by 10 reflective pillars that are 6 meters tall. "The columns and the disk were shot through by bullets of the same caliber that the Nazis used during execution in Babyn Yar."

Below you can find a 360 degree video of it here for an example of the audio-visual experience. To read more on this memorial and about the audio experience, you can read about it here.

[iamfabiloz]

have a little idea of a drabble if that’s ok!

just. some squirreljessy fluff. maybe squirrelflight has had a fight with bramblestar, so jessy comforts her and then they decide to run away together?

this is such an old ask WAA when i was doing writing rqs in 2022 (i am no longer but) this one is for u anon *looks up at the sky* i started this almost 2 years ago and its not rlly done but I am all out of steam and am in no way a real writer so i just gave up this is what i got cw bad (i do not feel this vehemently abt anything here sorry i just got rlly into character LOL

“Run away with me, Squirrelflight.” 

Jessy’s meow was level, calm, as if the words she had just uttered were completely ordinary and not life-changing in the slightest.

Squirrelflight sputtered, choking on the mouse she had just settled down to eat. 

“W-what?” 

The deputy was now acutely aware of the deafening silence all around her, occasionally broken by the occasional squawk of a bird or creak of a branch. 

Unnerved, Squirrelflight suddenly wished for the comforting babble of her clanmates to fill the air, draining the tension from the too-quiet woods. But she knew none would come, the area they were in was a little more than a 10-minute walk from camp after all.

 It was just the two of them. 

The dark ginger molly suddenly shifted uncomfortably as the air seemed to get heavier, the little patch of forest they were in seemingly more enclosed and less spacious by the minute. It was as if the whole territory was as shocked by Jessy’s words as Squirrelflight was. 

The deputy’s partner had wheedled Squirrelflight for a moment alone all day, much to Bramblestar's chagrin. Squirrelflight’s former mate kept making up excuses for her to ignore Jessy’s request, sending Squirrelflight on errand after errand as if she were nothing but a misbehaving apprentice!

It made Squirrelflight’s claws itch and pelt prickle with frustration and she so longed to fire back at the brown tabby tom’s nonsensical demands, but she held her tongue, just this once. She wanted to meet with Jessy without being interrupted or hounded about undone checklists, thank you very much. 

So she trudged along the obstacle course Bramblestar had purposefully set for her, completing task after task (which included elder den management, tick-removal, border re-marking, herb stockpiling, and fresh-kill charting) until she was finally finished with a good enough portion to be excused for personal time. 

 Squirrelflight had quietly slipped away with a mouse in maw to meet her mate at their favorite spot in the territory: an old crooked oak tree with gnarled roots and a gaping hole beneath it big enough to house two full-grown cats. Squirrelflight had squeezed in, waiting for Jessy to meet her there. 

She momentarily relived the burst of affection she’d felt when she’d seen the brown she-cat pad closer to her location.

Whatever Squirrelflight has been expecting Jessy to say, it had certainly not been this. 

“You heard me.” The brown kittypet snapped, leaning in closer to meet Squirrelflight’s bewildered green gaze. 

“We can’t be happy here, love. Not with him around. Run away with me, Squirrelflight.” 

Squirrelflight gulped down the rest of her mouse, the prey dropping into her belly like a cold stone. 

“I- he… I know Bramblestar can be a bit… difficult.” 

“A bit is an understatement.” Jessy unsheathed her claws with a growl. 

“The guy’s a total asshole, Squirrelflight. We both know it.” 

Squirrelflight flattened her ears. 

Damn. She’s right. 

“I know, Jessy.” Squirrelflight sighed. “I know that better than any cat. But…” 

Jessy frowned. 

“But what? You’ve dealt with enough of his bullshit for a lifetime! I’ve only been here for a season and he’s already driving me crazy! I don’t know how you put up with it for so long.”

Jessy lashed her tail, her claws kneading at the ground impatiently. Squirrelflight placed her white paw on the she-cat’s shoulder, gazing at her with a silent plea. The molly’s amber gaze softened for a heartbeat, melting into the warm honeyed kindness that Squirrelflight had fallen for, before hardening back into the stern amber the deputy also admired. 

“Please try to understand, Jessy. I can’t just pick up and leave my clan out of the blue. I have responsibilities here.” 

An image of a lithe brown and white tabby flashed in Squirrelflight’s head, along with an elderly pale ginger molly and two younger toms. 

Leafpool, Sandstorm, Lionblaze, Jayfeather. 

Another vision crowded Squirrelflight’s mind, one of ThunderClan cats, big and small, hunting, patrolling, sharing tongues, and laughing as a group. 

My family and my clanmates are both so precious to me. Oh how could I be so cruel as to leave them? 

Squirrelflight closed her eyes, trying to choke back her rising distress at the thought of abandoning them all for her own desires. 

They need me. It would be selfish to just walk out when I’ve dedicated my whole life to them. 

“Are you thinking about your kin?” Jessy’s voice softened, her usual fire dimming. 

Squirrelflight nodded, blinking. “And my clanmates. Oh, Jessy, I can’t. I couldn’t. How could I leave them all?” 

Jessy looked away, her gaze darkening. 

“Squirrel…” Jesse’s maw slowly closed. 

Squirrelflight felt a rush of panic.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just-“

“Your duty. I know, I know.“ Jessy leaned over and brushed her muzzle against the deputy’s cheek.

“I just wish it could be easy.” 

 “I know Jessy, me too.” Squirrelflight sucked in a breath. “No matter what I think of Bramblestar, my clan always comes first.”

“But what about you?” Jessy burst out, bristling. 

“Why should you continue dealing with that whiny bastard just for the sake of another cat’s wellbeing? Gah- what about your own?” 

Jessy’s teeth grinded and she let out an irritated hiss. Squirrelflight was pressed against her side in an instant, curling her bushy tail over her companion’s back as an attempt to soothe her nerves. 

Jessy took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her maw, the tension in her frame slowly softening. The brown molly sagged against the deputy’s side, her face pressing against Squirrelflight’s thick-furred shoulder. 

“Feel better?” Squirrelflight offered, giving one of Jessy’s ears a quick lick. 

“Mmrgh… no.” Jessy grunted, lifting her head, her expression twisting into a deep frown. 

“I love you so much, Squirrelflight. You know that right? So it’s absolutely infuriating to watch that rotten pile of manure treat you like a kitten who’s wet behind the ears and not the capable pillar of ThunderClan I know you are.” 

Squirrelflight felt a deep purr rumble in her chest, words unable to express how thankful she was for her companions' support. 

“Oh Jessy, I love you too. I’ll have to consider it for a bit though. I hope you understand.” 

“Of course.” Jessy meowed, padding forward to affectionately bump foreheads with her. 

“Hey, I know I said a lot of shit alright, but this is your decision. I won’t force you to do anything, and whatever you decide, I’ll be fine. Don’t pay any mind to my emotional blubbering, this is about you and what you're comfortable with. I can handle that fuzz-brained idiot myself, I was just concerned about how he affects you. I know it’s a huge thing to consider, with you having folks here and all and it’s reasonable to have doubts. Just know I’ll be with you through thick and thin, Squirrelflight.” 

Jessy pulled away, a twinkle in her amber eyes.

“No matter what.” 

“Thank you Jessy.” Squirrelflight grinned, suddenly feeling a rush of energy she hadn’t felt since she was a young cat. 

“Now… I think I’d like to have a little chat with Bramblestar. I didn’t appreciate how he made me his errand cat today.

[capybaracorn]

Land Day: What happened in Palestine in 1976?

Every year on March 30, Palestinians hold protests and vigils and plant olive trees to reaffirm their connection to the land.

(30th of March 2024)

Hundreds of Palestinians in Gaza joined the Land Day protests near the eastern Gaza borders, March 30, 2022 [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

Every year on March 30, Palestinians observe Land Day, or Yom al-Ard, recalling the events of March 30, 1976, when six unarmed Palestinians were killed and more than 100 injured by Israeli forces during protests against Israel’s confiscation of Palestinian land.

How much land did Israel confiscate?

Israel ordered the confiscation of 2,000 hectares (4,942 acres) of land belonging to Palestinian citizens of Israel in the Galilee. These plans were part of Israeli state policy to Judaise Galilee following the creation of the state of Israel.

The confiscated land is roughly the size of 3,000 football pitches or the area from the tip of Manhattan to Central Park in New York, US.

What do Palestinians do on Land Day?

Palestinians, both inside Israel and across the occupied territory, mark this day by holding protests and vigils and planting olive trees to reaffirm their connection to the land. The protests are often met with brutal use of force by Israel.

Um Ahmad al-Banna was wounded in the protests of March of Return and joined Land Day commemorations in Gaza in 2022 [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

Is Israel still seizing land?

Yes, Israel has continued to seize large swaths of Palestinian land, designating them as military zones, state land and other labels.

Most recently, on March 22, 2024, Israel’s Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich declared Israel was seizing 800 hectares (1,977 acres) in the occupied West Bank, in a move that would facilitate building more illegal settlements.

“While there are those in Israel and in the world who seek to undermine our right to Judea and Samaria and the country in general, we promote settlement through hard work and in a strategic manner all over the country,” Smotrich said, using Biblical names for the area that are commonly heard in Israel.

Settlements – illegal under international law – are Jewish-only communities built on Palestinian land in the occupied West Bank and East Jerusalem.

On March 6, Israel’s settlement-planning authority announced it had approved the construction of some 3,500 new housing units in Maale Adumim, Kedar and Efrat within the occupied West Bank.

From November 1, 2022 to October 31, 2023, Israel has approved at least 24,000 illegal housing units to be built on Palestinian land.

Earlier this month, the United Nations’ High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Turk said settlements had expanded by a record amount and risked eliminating any possibility of a Palestinian state.

[swamp-cats-den]

On Jan 14, 2023, russians launched a missile meant for destroying warships at a residential building in Dnipro, killing 46 people in one go.

A year has passed, and I still sometimes see the picture from above in my head. It just can't leave my mind - a girl sitting in a destroyed bathroom wearing Christmas tree decorations cause we used to celebrate the so-called 'Old New Year' on that date.

She had (maybe still has) a twitter account. A couple of months before the Dnipro strike, her partner was killed on the frontlines. She was writing that she was depressed, and could barely get through work. And then russia fired a missile at her apartment, killing her parents who were sitting just next door.

I don't know how she's doing now. I hope to god she's ok, as much as she can be.

There's another story my friend told at the demonstration in Tallinn today. Her friend from Mariupol moved to study in Kharkiv (that's where they met), and when the full-scale war started - to Dnipro as it was safer. Both her parents stayed to defend Mariupol, and were taken prisoners of war. In autumn 2022, her mom was released in a prisoner exchange,and came to Dnipro to her daughter. They lived in that residential building. The girl was killed. I'm not sure about the mum, but I think she died too. The father is still in russian captivity. I don't think he knows what happened.

I just wanted to share these two stories.

If you zoom in, here you can see that the girl from the first story is holding on to a plushie .

[antisemitism-us]

A woman who made hundreds of threatening phone calls to the Tree of Life synagogue and its executive director was sentenced Thursday to 32 months in prison and three years of supervised release, closing a saga that began just months after 11 congregants were killed there in an antisemitic attack.

Melanie Harris, 59, made her first phone call to the synagogue and its executive director, Joel Goldstein, in February 2019. In various voicemails left over the next few years, she referenced victims of the October 2018 massacre, used antisemitic slurs and said, “I’ll cut your f—ing head off.”

Harris was arrested in March 2023 in Riverside, California, and pleaded guilty to knowingly and intentionally transmitting a threatening communication in interstate commerce.

The Tree of Life synagogue did not respond to a request for comment.

After serving Tree of Life for more than 20 years, Goldstein left the position and moved with his family to Florida, but the calls continued. Harris called him more than 240 times in total, according to the plea agreement, including one day in October 2022 in which she left Goldstein 15 voicemails.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Here's another long-winded post about me combing through BG3 early access files in search of Aylin and Isobel tidbits - rummaging that already resulted in this post right here. Let me just say I'm pleased to have brought Aylin Silverblood some attention because, again, I think it's a dope name.

Now, obviously, Isobel and Aylin are both Act 2 characters, and early access only covered Act 1. So anything related to them is partial stuff that wasn't scrubbed from the game files for whatever reason, and a lot of placeholders (these are usually indicated by |the text being in vertical lines|). This all means that sometimes (usually!) there are no nice voice lines indexed by UUID and parseable dialogue trees, and you have to trawl through a giant localisation XML of every bit of text in the game instead. An additional complication is all these stories were in flux, but older bits of writing from deprecated iterations didn't get immediately removed from the files, so it's sometimes hard to tell what belongs to which version.

The biggest luck I've had with regards to these two is the 24/11/2021 version of the game - EA Patch #6 Hotfix #19, aka game version v. 4.1.1.1356845, aka the source of Aylin Silverblood (my beloved). Here's a handy list of the patch and hotfix history, if you're like me and interested in this stuff. I'm actually wrangling files from 5 versions of the game right now, ranging from March 2021 to July 2022 - it's been a fun time. This old datamining post on reddit really helped narrow down the timeframe for me to look into.

Why am I doing this? I genuinely find it fun and interesting! There's some neat writing to be found! I crave more Isobel at all times! And I'm always into WIP and "how the sausage is made" type stuff. Also, tons of cool inspo for fics and headcanons.

Note, because I know that's a popular EA tidbit: this is all from after the Halsin killing Isobel variant was scrapped. This is, in fact, the version where she gets killed and soul trapped by Balthazar, and Aylin gets framed for it.

I'm going to start this off with my favourite part, and that is snippets of an early version of the Aylin/Isobel reunion from 2021. I've done my best to put them in order, but be aware a lot of this is still me speculating.

|[CINE: Nightsong teleports the party to the plaza in front of Last Light. As she looks around trying to familiarize herself, Isobel notices your arrival from the balcony. Her reaction is pure shock, followed by an immediate rush down the stairs.]|

|[CINE: Isobel dashes out of the front of the inn, wide-eyed and out of breath. Nightsong stares at her, stunned.]|

Aylin: |(distant, shocked) Isobel.|

Isobel: |Aylin...|

|[CINE: Nightsong takes an instinctive step towards her but stumbles, collapsing to her knees, eyes blown with pain and disbelief. Isobel closes the distance between them in hasty steps, trying to help Nightsong up, but Nightsong tightly grips at her arms - as if the contact makes everything real.]|

|[CINE: Isobel's eyes fill with tears as she drops down to the ground, throwing her arms around Nightsong's shoulders in a tight embrace. Shaking, almost fearful, Nightsong returns the embrace - the first kind touch she's had in a hundred years.]|

|[CINE: Nightsong draws back from the hug, looking Isobel in the eyes. Isobel helps Nightsong to her feet. As the two of them stand, they keep their hands linked.]|

Aylin: |A hundred years. Isobel, light of my heart, where were you? (choking up) I found your body, I....|

Isobel: |I was dead, Aylin. For so long. It was Balthazar - he trapped my soul, he-|

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowRelationship] You were lovers? Did Ketheric know?|

Aylin: |(jaw tightens) We were lovers. Her father was against it. He saw nothing but future misery. I'm immortal. I would never age, but she would.|

Isobel: |He didn't understand. It doesn't matter when... (fearful, as if worried Aylin's feelings might have changed) ... I still love you so much.|

Aylin: |(her first genuine smile) And I, you. No trial or pain could ever change that. (relaxes a touch) It is why I couldn't leave your body, even when they came. Balthazar and that Sharran witch told your father that I was to blame.|

|And he believed them over you?|

Aylin: |(frowns) He believed what he wanted to believe. Ketheric saw his daughter dead, and he saw someone he wanted to hurt. Shar took that cruel thread, that moment of mortal pain, and used it to corrupt him to the core.|

Aylin: |I was put on trial, and I had no defence. The moment it was over, I was taken down to the temple and... well, you saw what they had done.|

|Isobel presses against Nightsong's side, face tight with worry, running her fingers in slow strokes up and down Nightsong's arm.|

|[CINE: Nightsong tilts her head back towards the player.]|

Aylin: |These heroes saved me. Without them, I'd still be trapped in Balthazar's soul cage, with Ketheric gripping my heart like a leech.|

|[CINE: Isobel's face falls at the mention of her father's name.]|

Isobel: |A *soul cage*? Gods.|

Isobel: |I didn't know. Gods, he didn't say a word to me. I ran away because it was Balthazar that brought me back. As I ran, I heard my father shouting... but I'd seen enough. There was no saving him.|

Aylin: |You are not your father, Isobel. (sad, wry smile) You were the only thing that kept me alive in the dark. When hope began to fade, I simply thought of you.|

Isobel: |[To player] Thank you. (smiles wide) I... I can't possibly thank you enough, for bringing Aylin back to me.|

|Nightsong smiles too, but she's lost looking at Isobel, completely tuning out everyone else around them. Isobel leans in, resting her brow against Nightsong's and closing her eyes, Nightsong's hand clutched to her chest.|

Then, there is an option to press Isobel for details:

|You said the necromancer trapped your soul. Why?| |Was Balthazar the one who killed you, Isobel?|

Isobel: |(hesitant, visibly guilty) I think Aylin would know better than I do. The last thing I remember is a blade in the dark. Too fast to feel pain. Then silence.|

Asking Isobel to go with you to Moonrise was possible at various points, leading to different responses:

Will you come with me to Moonrise? I could use your help. If we're going to stop Ketheric, you have to come with me.

Until there is a way to keep Last Light safe, I cannot leave. All I can do is pray. |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. I'll do everything I can to help you from here, but I won't go with you.| |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. If someone else could take my place, I would go with you. I swear it.|

|Nightsong is here, she will protect Last Light - let's go to Moonrise, like you promised.| |I want to spend the night with Aylin. Meet me at Moonrise tomorrow.| |Nightsong will protect the people while together we can stop Ketheric.|

Isobel: I... we need to get close to him, don't we? And Aylin can protect Last Light in my absence. Aylin: Isobel, I have just gotten you back. To put yourself in his hands again-

Looks like we would've had a flip of the current Act 2 boss fight, and Isobel would be the ally for the confrontation with Ketheric, not Aylin. Also, that one line right there that is our first indication of Succor™, gotta love it. Sadly, post-reunion I only have:

|TBD: Post Nightsong Reunion.| |How are you and Aylin doing?|

To borrow release version Isobel's stock line: KEEPING VERY WELL, I HOPE? In any case, I'm putting the rest under a cut, featuring options for calling Isobel out on her parentage, Aylin being from Mt. Celestia, and Balthazar being gross - among many other things.

At one point quite early on, Isobel's protection from the shadow curse wasn't a spell, but an ointment:

|Ointment of Selûne| |Ointment Container PLACEHOLDER| |Isobel filled this with precious doses of her sacred Ointment of Selûne.| |First get the ointment from Isobel.| Have you received Isobel's ointment yet? What protection can her ointment offer, exactly? You should see Isobel. If Marcus does crop up, I'd sooner you had her ointment to protect you. Can use that cleric's ointment to get you on your way. But I have to move out - now. Can I get some of your ointment? No more theories! It's time for action. Our secret weapon needs to travel to Moonrise Towers, which means they'll need your ointment. You have the ointment. You have the Gate Stone. Moonrise Towers awaits. Are you sure the ointment will last long enough?

What is now Isobel's Ominous Cough was a gradual weakening that was remarked upon and seemed to be there to create more of a sense of urgency:

I won't claim to know Isobel's craft, but Selûne's light is bright in her. Isobel's tough - though she was tougher at the start. I've rarely seen a cleric so in tune with her goddess, but the curse is taking its toll. The light used to be stronger, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take? You look paler than death, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take?

We have some nice concise infodumps on Ketheric:

After Ketheric turned to darkness, the Enclave joined with the Harpers to unseat him and his Sharran cohorts. We marched together, fought together, bled together... and in the end we prevailed.

Only it wasn't the end. Nothing seemed to kill Ketheric himself, so the Harpers decided to seal him in his own tomb, alive. They thought that would be enough. But they hadn't counted on Ketheric unleashing the shadow curse. We watched it drain all light and life away from this place, saw it twist people into abominations. The Harpers lost hope.

Ketheric wove the curse on this land. The moment he was sealed in that tomb, Shar's poison devoured everything in its path.

Fallen paladin. Champion of Shar. He was building an army bent on unholy conquest, but we stopped him. Killed him. Buried him.

It was not enough. General Thorm lives again. He's built a new army, and this time he marches under the banner of the Absolute.

November 2021 is the earliest mention of Aylin I found, mostly marked as not finalised and placeholder dialogue (and that reunion up there). The Nightsong as present in that patch is still very different from what we ended up getting - nobody was killing her, in fact people were coming to get her "kiss", and there was a whole thing where it seems like Shar would directly take control of her and you could help her overcome the curse, or abandon her to it - or kill her. 

Embrace the Nightsong and be sworn to Eternal Shadow.

Anyway, here are her lines (all of these exist as voice files, which is rare for stuff I put in this post - but they're done by a voice actress who doesn't sound like Helen Keeley, our final Aylin VA, so I don't know what to make of it all tbh):

Shar is the Nightsinger, and I am her Nightsong. I am her instrument, transforming the faithful into shadows. I've been here for centuries. Do you know how many priests of Shar came here, full of faith, seeking my kiss? I've been here for centuries. Thousands of Sharrans came here seeking my kiss. I drink their sorrow, their loss, their grief. Then I vomit it back into the world. All of them are shadows now. That is Shar's only reward. But Ketheric returned for my kiss, over and over. You're the first to survive my kiss intact. You're the only one who can help me. Please, you have to help. No one's ever resisted the kiss before. No one has ever resisted my kiss. But you are not merely *one*, are you? That thing in your head must be incredibly powerful to resist a goddess. Perhaps it's also divine in nature. Because a mind can't survive two masters. It breaks us. Shar's attention must be elsewhere. Speak quickly. She's watching now. She's waiting to steal my voice. But it won't last. Please - listen! I was captured by Ketheric Thorm, Shar's chosen. He turned me into this creature. I'm a slave of Shar. She owns me, just like that thing in your head owns you. I want to sing my own song. Not Shar's. Not *Ketheric's*. Find Ketheric. Kill him so I can be free! Slay Ketheric. His wretched existence binds me to this temple. Oh. That made her angry. The Lady returns! She has me again! *Again!* Stop! You've driven her away!

I am not your *spectacle*. Turn away before I strike you blind. Tell them to come and receive my kiss.

Some possible relevant tags, interactions, and outcomes include:

|The soul cage has greatly weakened Nightsong| |Debug: click to save Nightsong (sets the flag to talk to Isobel)| |We sided with Ketheric and doomed Nightsong.| |Companion comment!||But if his power is linked to this Nightsong, there must be a way to unlink it.| |You have taken control of Ketheric's Soul Cage| |You are bound to Ketheric's soul cage, taking his regenerative powers for yourself| |Bound to Soul Cage| |Soul Cage Key| |Soul Cage Research| |The book details the necromancer's research on the soul cage| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost, as she takes her Father with her to the afterlife.| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost terrified and in agony. Both Isobel and Ketheric will disappear.|

At one point Isobel delivers her own, Ketheric's, and Aylin's backstory as "a story", but sadly I can find very little of it, just disjointed fragments:

You seem to know a lot about Ketheric. He was a devout Selûnite who converted to Shar. They say it was Ketheric's purity that drew an angel down from Celestia. You're Isobel Thorm. The daughter who died in that story.

And there seem to be many options to question Isobel about her hiding the truth about her father:

Why are you lying to me, Isobel? Everyone thinks you're dead, Isobel. Tell me the truth, Isobel. Everything. Still, Isobel might have saved us some time had she been honest from the beginning. |Why didn't you tell me what happened from the start, Isobel?|

Ketheric. Don't you mean your father? Ketheric is your father. I know the truth. Ketheric told me at Moonrise. He wants me to bring you home. I need your father to trust me. He wants you back. You sent me after your father - Ketheric. I think we should discuss Ketheric - your father - first. For all you've said about Ketheric, you left out the part where he's your father.

To which I've found some responses:

And would you have trusted her? Ketheric's daughter? Why didn't I tell you that I was murdered, that my soul was locked away for a hundred years? What would I have told her? That my father murdered her fellow Harpers, but that I can surely be trusted?

[Attempt to read Isobel's thoughts.] *You see Ketheric standing before Isobel, although the memory is hazy. His words are unclear, but his tone is not - he is pleading with her.*

Brought back by the same man that killed me. Balthazar. Standing next to my father with a smile on his face.

But I'm not sure it would have mattered. To stand with that man, my father has surrendered to deepest evil.

I would love to know what the whole pleading thing is about, and what Isobel "didn't know" that she claims didn't matter anyway.

My father. After a century, he somehow brought me back. But I saw the monster he had become. I couldn't bear it... I ran. I ran until I found Last Light. It was like a second home to me, once. I've been studying the curse ever since, searching for answers. Trying to restore the damage my father has wrought upon this land. It's possible I may have to sacrifice myself. But this is my father's crime.

And then, there is this nugget I cannot place but that I like: 

|Your father's due will come.|

There is also an option to tell her Nightsong is Aylin (who was, at this point, a full celestial - no mention of being connected to Selûne, though, and in fact, if she was indeed from Mount Celestia as mentioned in the "story", she would not have been):

Isobel: My father's curse still blackens this earth. Have you found anything? Player: A celestial, chained to Ketheric's soul. Player: They called her Nightsong, but she told me her name was Aylin. Isobel: Aylin. She... she's alive. I knew she had to be, I… Player: Ketheric's necromancer took her to Moonrise. Isobel: His necromancer? Gods, you have to free her. Isobel: You have to go to Moonrise and free Aylin. When Ketheric is weak, this can all be over. Isobel: The truth is that I would give anything to see her again, and anything to stop my father. Free her, and you do both. Isobel: At least, the shell of my father. There's nothing left of the man that championed Selûne. Isobel: Find her. Free her. If Ketheric isn't stopped, all of us are doomed.

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowName] Aylin? Care to explain?| Isobel: The angel in my story about Ketheric. That was Aylin.

Speaking of Balthazar. Some lines from him:

[Introductory note: please imagine everything Balthazar says spoken with a wheezy voice, as if he's permanently out of breath.]

[I need to retrieve the Nightsong, but the temple is haunted and my minions cannot make it past the trial grounds. I cannot go there until the ghosts have been dealt with. Now that you are here on behalf of Ketheric, you will do all this for me.]

I, Fodder, am here on behalf of General Ketheric Thorm. Down in the depths of this temple writhes his desire. I am to bring it to him.

I created the Nightsong for General Ketheric, many moons... HEAR THAT SHAR? Many moons ago.

*As you hold the necromancer's mocking gaze, you can tell how it starts to dawn on him you are not the mere minion he thought you were.*

Along the way I found some more recent Patch 8 (2022-ish) gross Balthazar lines, some bits of which have actually survived to release:

She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

Such fine clay she was. We grew quite close as I… remoulded her. Now she is General Thorm's shield. Her strength is his to drink upon. His pains are hers to bear.

If I never exceed her, I will still die happy. If I ever do something as gauche as truly dying, that is.

Utterly revolting! Makes my skin crawl! Man deserves a yeeting into the Shadowfell a hundred times over! But in order to not end on a gross note, I leave you with:

Ketheric Thorm. Murderer. Oathbreaker.

Aylin Silverblood. My true name. Nightsong was only ever a curse.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

“With the tree of life behind them and the garden representing fertility, life and moving forward, they didn’t need any direction,” said photographer Misan Harriman of shooting that moment.” Didn’t he later admit he added the tree of life to that picture after the fact? Could explain why they needed no direction if they’re just lying in an empty field.

Well, it’s a bit complicated.

First, Misan went on BBC Radio’s Private Passions podcast in March 2022. He was asked about the photo session and spoke about the willow tree.

Here’s the podcast episode, unfortunately only available to listen in the UK at this point. (While the podcast is available on Spotify, this episode - among many others - are missing so I suspect BBC Radio is being selective what they post.)

(Posting this without having listened to it. I couldn’t find a transcript to follow along with.)

Tom Bower gave the episode a listen and used it as a reference for Revenge:

Back in 2021 after the photo was originally published, Misan gave an interview to Good Morning Today, an American breakfast show on NBC (fyi, then-bestie Gayle King is with CBS). You can read about Misan’s interview and his comments here:

Then Getty killed the Waleses’ Mother’s Day photo for editing and people began complaining about the Sussexes’ photos being edited, citing Misan’s comments on BBC Radio, to which Misan responded:

Misan was furious enough that eventually he released the original photograph he took and some metadata to prove that all he did was apply a black and white filter, which is in line with Getty’s requirements.

Personally, releasing the metadata doesn’t give any proof that he manipulated image. All he did was show us the real photo and its metadata, but what he needs to do is show the metadata of the black and white photo. That’s where the proof is.

And note that there’s no timestamp or date on the metadata screenshot. So how do we know he’s showing us the metadata for the correct image?

But don’t forget that there were two images created for the pregnancy announcement. Yes, there’s the one where they’re sitting/lying down, but there’s also this one:

For which there’s no metadata and that even Misan himself seems to have forgotten that he took. It supposedly was taken in the same iPad photo shoot, but not included in the pregnancy announcement. Instead, it was distributed right after the Oprah interview on March 8, 2021.

It’s murky, but someone is lying because why would Misan talk about editing in a willow tree if - as per his defense two years later - he didn’t answer the question BBC was baiting him with?

So anyway, I’ll just end with this.

First, what Misan and the Sussexes are claiming is a jacaranda tree doesn’t look like any jacaranda tree I’ve seen. I’ve never seen one sprout horizontal branches/limbs that close to the ground (they’re usually up a few feet).

And second, from a columnist of the LA Times:

Seems pretty fitting that the Sussexes used a jacaranda tree after all, doesn’t it?

Link

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! I'm craving some cozy autumn vibes johnlock fics to read in the cold season. Do you have some recs? Lots of love <3

Hi Lovely!!

Oh what a fun list idea!! I can't believe I've never thought of doing one given that Autumn is my fave season! I know more fics than what I picked here for you take place in the Fall, but I've only included ones with the season in the tag. If anyone has more fics, PLEASE add them and give me a hand :)

Hope you enjoy these fics!!

AUTUMN / FALL FICS

See also:

Hot and Cold Fics (June 2022)

Halloween and Ghosts (updated Oct 31/21)

Halloween Fics 2023 (MFLs)

BOOKMARKS

And as the seasons change, I love you more by Teatrolley (NR, 3,219 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff and Angst, Est. Rel., Marriage / Proposal) – A year in the lives of John and Sherlock, essentially.

In the Bleak Midwinter (A Canticle for Advent) by CaitlinFairchild (M, 3,476 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Injury, Missing Scenes, HLV Timeline) – In the autumn of 2014, Mary Watson shot Sherlock Holmes. This is what happened after.

Let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room by Teatrolley (NR, 3,966 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Two Idiots in Love, Fluff, Domestics) – Four seasons in the life of Sherlock and John, really.

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV/S3 Fix It Fic, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix-It, First Person POV Sherlock, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

MARKED FOR LATER

Into the Gloaming by Vulpesmellifera (M, 8,385 w., 4 Ch. || Heavy Angst, Child Death, Grief / Mourning, Mentions of Cancer, Corvids, Fever Dreams, Hopeful Ending) – She lays the sage bundle down in one of his seashells, avoiding the label. How he loved cataloging natural items. That sharp mind of his so naturally tended to the sciences, and she’d taken great joy in encouraging him all his life. All the first thirteen years of it. The last year has been entirely different. His hand lies just outside the white comforter. When she touches it, the chill of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. His lips move, his voice as soft as dead, dry leaves. “What’s that, love?” she says. “In the trees,” he says, his eyes still closed. “Is it John there in the trees? I think he’s waiting for me.” Viola turns her gaze out the window and to the closest tree, a resplendent cherry in the throes of autumn. In the branches there, for just a second, she thinks she sees it: a black bird, feathers gleaming in the sun.

A Thousand Kisses Deep by Susan (E, 12,689 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Time Travel, Longing, Angst, Post S1, Time Travel Fix It) – “Come here,” Sherlock said and when he did, he put his arm across John’s shoulder, and pulled him close. John let him, and after a moment, rested his head against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock felt the familiar ache, a longing for what might have been. If only he’d been braver, more sure of John’s feelings. He dropped his arms and stepped back. It was too late. Things were as they were meant to be. But it was autumn in Sussex, and everything was changing. If you were given a chance to go back to the beginning and make things right, would you take it?

Hot Water Bottle by khorazir (T, 18,436 w., 1 Ch. || Post TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Communication, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Autumn, Bed Sharing, Developing Relationship, First Kiss) – A case in one of the remotest corners of the Lake District, a storm, an inn, a broken boiler, a room with two beds but only one hot water bottle, and two men who have a lot to sort out between them – all of this makes for a night to remember.

Johnloctober by prettysailorsoldier (E, 169,945 w., 31 Ch. || Assorted AU’s || Alternate First Meetings, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, 30 Day OTP Challenge, Prompts, Halloween / Autumn, Assorted Tags) – 31 days of autumnal Johnlock with prompts from all of you! There will be a bit of everything, but you can check the tags for more specifics.For a summary of every chapter, as well as individual tags, click here.

Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / VirginSherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

[satoru-is-the-way]

SPOILERS FOR AVATAR 2!!

Avatar! Rick Quaritch x Na'vi Reader 

"Given Enough "

Series Master list

Tag list: @anyzandy   @kneelingforvillains @dioriez @mylovelyreblogs @dinobae-replyacc @the-wanderer-2022 @zootsutra @voodoogoul

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

Chapter 1 - The Invader

Colonel Rick Quaritch shamefully tucked his tail and flew off. His mission to kill Jake Sully failed drastically. Now it's just him flying out into the wilderness of Pandora. His body is weak and needs to rest. Rick landed on a nearby plot of floating land,' Ayram alusìng' as Na'vi called them. However, this was not the Hallelujah Mountains. Quaritch had no clue where exactly he was. He grunts, removing his Queue from the Ikran. He slides off the mountain banshee’s back boots landing on the ground beneath him. The Colonel glanced around for any natives lurking in the trees or behind the bushes around him. The cost seemed clear enough to let his guard down. Little did he know a female Na'vi had been monitoring him long before he entered her tribe's domain. 

(Y/n) (L/n), the clan leader's firstborn. Her people were known as the Kamimaljuyú. The air tribe. They lived in the Ayram alsuìng and built their home there. Humans learned very little about their kind. Due to the terrain, it served as a natural shield against the sky people. Their technology did not last beyond a few miles before rendering them completely useless. The Kamimaljuyú made minimal contact with Sky people and preferred to keep it as such.

(E/c) orbs gradually examined the Avatar before her. She caught subtle differences between her people and the lab-grown organism. Their Avatar features included:  eyebrows, a pronounced nose, a stout physique, one extra finger, and a toe. Their entire race intrigued (Y/n). How did it make sense to leave their dying world only to bring their problems here? Humans would not change their way of life. Not even to save their race. They rather force their ways on others while avoiding the real problem. She could not allow him to stay here much longer. (Y/n) feared Quaritch might bring others. The Kamimaljuyú knew about the sky people’s return but had no involvement in such a meaningless slaughter. They were after the mighty Jake Sully, not her people.

Her chest rose and fell, soaking in the air around her. With a graceful hand, she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. (Y/n) placed the string between the nock before pulling back. Her accuracy could rival any hunter in their village because she never missed. Everything around her accounted for; the distance, position, and wind speed. She let go firing her poisoned lace weapon. Suddenly a gust of wind hit the trajectory changed. Her eyes widen as the arrow lands right at the Colonel’s boots. She then felt a strong presence, Eywa. Maybe the path for this Avatar is not death. The great mother is never wrong. 

Quaritch leaped up glancing in the direction the arrow came from. “Come on out. I might go easy on you.” He growled despite not being in the physical condition to fight. (Y/n) rolled her eyes before slowly emerging from the nearby bush. Her arrow is out as a precaution. 

“You look ready to collapse at any moment now, demon.” Her ears go back hissing as a warning. “I take it you couldn't handle the Na'vi as you thought? You may have an Avatar body but your skills and technology are no match for our spirit." 

Quaritch looked over the native female. He could not deny she was beautiful. The Colonel normally had no attraction to women of their race but. Her eyes, face, lips, and hair all came together perfectly. "You-you." He stutters before collapsing. The last thing he saw is (Y/n) rushing over to his body before everything went black. 

---

Quaritch had no idea how long he was out. He woke up surrounded by thousands of Navi. He hissed looking frantically for a way you. However, he is bound and helpless. What choice did he have? Why did she not kill him? What did they want? He instantly could tell the leaders apart from the other Navi. ‘Oh, shit’ He thought realizing the pretty native woman is not just anyone. It was their daughter. How lucky could he get? It brought flashbacks of Jake Sully meeting Neytiri. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. If Jake became one of them perhaps he could? Seduce the princess into falling in love. Oldest trick in the book. A mission he would be willing to extend if that meant killing the whole Sully family while Jake watched.

“Why have you come back to Pandora after Toruk Makto sent you flying back?”

“We come back in peace. Not all of us agree with what happened to the people all those years ago. Earth wants to make admins.” He looked down with sorrow as the lies spilled off his tongue. “I had gotten caught in a nasty fight with the water tribe. I tried to explain but they did not want to listen.” Quaritch looked up directly into (Y/n)’s eyes. 

“How can I trust the sky people? The last time ended in bloodshed for both sides.”

“I will do anything.” 

“Father…” He glanced at his daughter. Originally Cualli held great anger when (Y/n) returned from her hunt with this demon tied to her Ikran. That anger changed as (Y/n) told him Eywa gave her a sign not to kill the Avatar. “Yuum, leti' impidió ti' le flecha perforara u puksi'ik'al. In wojel ba'ax Eywa Ma'atech u equivoca.Yaan jump'éel plan ti'. In wojel jach jaaj.” (Father, she stopped the arrow from piercing his heart. I know Eywa is never wrong. She has a plan for him. I know it to be true). Quaritch listens closely not understanding this language. He knew about the Kamimaljuyú. They were one of the largest tribes on Pandora and preferred to stay isolated from the other Navi. It was mentioned in books their numbers are greater than the stars in the sky.

The people chatted amongst themselves. They had a right to be scared for the sky people. Other clans had not been so lucky with the alien invaders. Eywa had blessed them all this time. Now his daughter has brought the invader right into their home. His wife, Inez, placed a hand on the wounded Avatar's chest closing her eyes. The Navi went silent waiting for her judgment. “We have avoided war for over 30 years. We kept the sky people at a distance. Eywa has blessed us with protection. Now the great mother has given my daughter a sign. This Avatar has great spirits around him. Evil and good alike battling over his heart. Eywa now brings him here for reasons we do not know. In time she will guide us to find his path, his destiny.” Her voice traveled loud and certain of her communication with Eywa. (Y/n) sighed in relief he would not be harmed as of now. Cualli stepped up raising his staff. The crowd bowed down waiting for his final verdict. With a gesture (Y/n) walked to her father kneeling down.

“My daughter has been spoken to by Eywa. Told to spare his life for now. As we wait for his purpose my daughter will take on the responsibility of tending to his invader. He could be a threat or an ally. We have yet to learn his heart. Eywa sets everyone on two paths. It is his choice of which path to take. Rise, my daughter.” He spoke. (Y/n) rose to her feet ears back. She is left in charge of this man? “You are going to show him our ways. Teach him right and wrong. Then I will pass judgment on him. If he passes the test he will be welcomed as one of us. If not you will kill him yourself. Do you both accept?” 

Quaritch held back his smirk,” I accept.”

(Y/n) sighed deeply,”Je'el in wóotik” (I accept.)

“Then go your time starts now,” Cualli announced

“ Ma' in falles waal.” (Do not fail me, daughter.) Inez whispered already knowing this will not work and (Y/n) will once more disgrace their family. (Y/n) nods looking at Quaritch.

“Follow me.” She instructed as the villagers went back to their daily tasks. She huffed once arriving at the edge of their first village. “You will have to wear our clothes, eat our food, and learn our language.” (Y/n) growled.

“I am not going to run around in one of those thongs or whatever you call them” He adds. Without warning (Y/n) pulls her knife out cutting his shirt. “You will change for this role. You will have to make accommodations or else my father will kill you.” She looked over him. “No boots, no guns, no shirt, but your pants can be cut short enough to still allow for mobility. We are air people there is still forest on our land. So we know how to climb the trees, and swing on the vines, and you will also need to learn our language.” 

Quaritch sighed taking his cut shirt off. He kicked his muddy boots off and growled cutting his pants mid-thigh length. He did not like this one bit.  “Is that better for you Princess?”

“Don’t call me that!” She hissed tail slapping him. “You are going to fail…Eywa sees something in you and I do not know why. It’s getting late supper will be soon then I will show you where you will rest.”

“With you, I hope.” He smirks moving closer to (Y/n). She growled and turned away with a sway in her walk. The Colonel knew this is going to be fun. 

Chapter 2

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God, Chapter 15: The Lakeshore

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: 18+, spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, mentions of death and war

A/n: We're back after five whole months!! I've been deep in the brainrot for this fic recently, and I'm so happy I've come back to it. I've had this series planned out since December 2022 and I'm really excited to see it through.

Also, psa I guess, this series is no longer going to be updated on Tumblr, all future chapters will be posted on AO3.

I do want to say thank you to everyone who's shown this fic some love on here, it makes me so happy seeing it come up in my notifs, I can't wait for you all to continue reading it :)❤️

Full Chapter on AO3

The voice in Luke’s head whispers again. Blood.

It is everywhere, in the colour of the sky, in the clouds and the setting sun. It’s in the water, spilled from the bodies of two dead dragons. Watery red waves ripple over the lakeshore, rushing over her boots, running back to the lake and seeping through the pebbles into the earth.

Aemond is covered in it. He is on his knees before her, an arrow lodged in the shoulder of his sword arm, his riding leathers sodden, his silver hair soaked and stained pink. She wonders if he can taste it, the blood of Caraxes and Vhagar on his tongue.

Even when she takes up Dark Sister and places its point to his throat, he is staring at her with the intent of a hunter. His seeing eye is wide, his eyepatch washed away and his sapphire almost black in the absence of light. The scar that frames it, the scar carved by her hand, is inflamed, furious and red.

The last time she had seen it, he was holding a knife against her cheek, demanding retribution, seeking payment for her debt.

It seems like another lifetime ago, before Arrax, before Shipbreaker Bay, before she had clawed her way through endless, agonising pain to find her way to Jace, before she had buried two of her siblings, when Rhaenyra was her mother and not her Queen. 

The sword– Daemon’s sword, feels wrong in her hand, but then it should not be hers to have.

“Remember all he has taken from you,” her step-father had said. 

And she does. She remembers it all.

Aemond’s arrogance to not weep and grovel and beg for his life, after everything, is an insult. 

She had never felt so sure of herself, so determined that she knew what path the Gods had mapped for her. Aemond would not have a noble death or the burial rites of their family. He would be lost to the lake with an arrow pierced through his black heart, remembered as a traitor and a kinslayer. She would be his end. It was only right.

Daemon had trusted her, handed her the bow she would use to kill him, told her to stay hidden amongst the trees and wait for the right moment to strike.

In the blur of battle, as night engulfed the sky and poisoned the air with its cold, she had missed her mark. She knew it the moment the arrow left the bow that it would not be enough to kill him.

The danger in that was Vhagar. The dragon howled in fury and surged towards her atop Grey Ghost. Aemond had his chance then. He could have finished what he began at Storm’s End, claimed her life, seen his debt fulfilled.

Then Vhagar had steered away.

It was hard to see what became of them in the final struggle. The dragons were a single mass of bloody flesh, joined with teeth and talons. Daemon leapt from his saddle, sword in hand. She might have screamed, either way it would have gone unheard.

Aemond must have realised what was happening when he started to fuss with his chains. He released himself and then they were falling.

Aemond and Daemon were lost to darkness but Vhagar and Caraxes plunged into the God’s Eye with a colossal splash that reached so high it appeared to match the height of Harrenhal itself.

She was standing on the lakeshore before she found herself in the mind of her dragon.

She watched through Grey Ghost’s eyes as he flew towards the lake and dived beneath the surface of the water. In that void his claws curled around a body.

She was standing on the shore again, inside her own mind again, waiting for Grey Ghost to deliver what– who he had found.

Grey Ghost set the body down. He may have had stained silver hair and Dark Sister clutched in his hand, but she knew right away it wasn’t her step-father. There was still life in him– in Aemond.

What will her mother think now?

She feels Aemond swallow against the blade, the movement of his throat piercing his skin. A droplet of blood trails down his neck, below his collar. 

She knows what she has to do– what she should do: push forwards, watch him choke on blood and steel. 

He draws his tongue between his lips. His voice is almost a whisper, thick and strained. “Please.”

Her hold on the hilt falters. Perhaps she should feel some semblance of pride, now that she has him at her mercy, breathless and broken. 

“Please.”

She watches the blood trail from the small cut she has made in his neck. She imagines it spraying from a larger wound, coating Dark Sister, seeping through his teeth and his lips.

“You can beg better than that, surely,” she says...

Read the rest of Chapter 15 on AO3

Tags (comment to be added to either)

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @toodlesxcuddles @arcielee

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @jamespotterismydaddy @tsujifreya @blackswxnn

[sailoryooons]

The Wood | JHS | (m)

☾ Pairing: witch!Hoseok x female reader

☾ Summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.

☾ Word Count: 16,786

☾ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic

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

☾ Warnings: Creepy town vibes somewhere in the south, unreliable narrator because she’s a dumb bitch, missing family member, descriptions of nightmares and night terrors, allusions to toxic citizens and intolerance in the southern US, cryptic exchanges, being attacked and choked by a strange entity, sleep paralysis, depictions of anxiety and panic and deep fear, manipulation, cat Yoongi.... sort of, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight hand job, a lot of spit and cum, fucking in a nasty ass motel room, mean Hoseok at the end, I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me, ambiguous ending/unexplained ending, implied death of a side character off-screen

☾ Published: May 29, 2022

☾ A/N: Not only is this absolutely a million weeks late, it also is the longest it has ever - and I mean ever - taken me to write a fic. This was so hard for me to write, and I have deleted anad re-written thousands of words for this. The end result is something that I absolutely did not plan. This fic is ENTIRELY different from the original outline and idea, so at times it might seem where this piece doesn’t know where it’s going because it wasn’t until I got to the end of the smut scene last night that I realized what the hell this story needed. 

I want to thank @here2bbtstrash because I could not have written this fic without them, but also for the amazing and thorough beta they gave this. This was one of my choppier/messier pieces and they helped fix this so much and I have giant feelings for M that are very normal. Also a special thank you to @gimmethatagustd for keeping me somewhat sane while really struggling with this piece.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | To Love A Monster Collab | Song Inspiration

Only God can save us! 

It’s probably the tenth sign of the like that you’ve seen. Your palms feel sweaty on the wheel, the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you drive through God’s Country increasing. For some reason, as you catch glimpses of old abandoned churches at the end of red dirt roads and leaning fruit stands with no seller in sight, you think that perhaps God has forsaken this place. 

The drive has been unremarkable, but the closer you get to Kill Devil you think perhaps the town is aptly named. You can’t help but get the sense - especially when you stop at a gas station with no one inside and a single working pump - that there is a reason the town sports such a unique title. 

It’s hard to imagine why your sister would ever move here, even temporarily. Outside, the locusts whine, a high-pitched buzzsaw hidden in the boughs draped with Spanish moss. The paint on the road has long since faded, single lanes stretching North to South in an endless strip. 

Sticky heat prickles your skin. Though there’s no one else around save for you and the locusts, you can’t help but look around nervously, eyes scouring the oak trees. The door to the gas station is locked, and the other side of your single-station pump has a red bag on the handle. 

The sk sk sk of the pump is a slow heartbeat. Pulling out your phone while you wait, your stomach flips when you see that you have very little service. You’re about thirty minutes away from Kill Devil and an hour away from any major cities. Peppered along the map are small towns like Kill Devil, home to pecan farms, corn fields, and cotton gins. 

You feel a long way from home.

A tingle slides down the back of your neck. You look up from your phone, gaze sweeping back and forth through the trees and over the cracked pavement of the station. There’s nothing else there, but you have the sense that the trees have eyes. 

The pump clicks loudly and your heart lurches, hand flying to your chest as you shriek and turn. For a few moments, your heart beats so loudly in your ears you can’t hear the chirping of the locusts or your ragged breathing as you close your eyes, trying to level out your moment of panic. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling the handle and jiggling it lightly to ensure any dripping gas is shaken off. 

Naturally, you’re a pretty calm person. The jumpiness belongs to your mother, who screams every time someone turns a corner in the house unexpectedly. It’s something about the feeling that clings to you like a second skin as you get in the car that has you shaken. 

Or it’s the fact that your sister has been missing for two months. 

On instinct, your hand goes to the necklace around your throat. It’s a heart-shaped locket, which would seem cheesy to anyone else. But for you, it’s one of the few coveted items you have from her.

It’s also something that you swear burned you in the middle of the night two months ago. You’re not sure if you believe in spiritual intuition or connection between family members, but what you do know is that you haven’t heard from her, and the local police have been no help. 

Trust your gut. That’s what she’s always said. And you do trust your gut on this, this knowing that something is wrong. 

On the road again, your tension continues to increase. The land has turned to steep up and down hills, pines lined on either side of the road, pocked with deep canyons.

Orange tire tracks appear and disappear on the highway, turning off onto clay roads with washed-out shoulders and deep ruts from all of the rain over the summer. Your sister had mentioned the house she was renting was nearly impossible to get to when the rain was bad.

A green sign that says Kill Devil City Limits passes by. No welcome sign, no little plaque announcing the population. Your music skips in and out, the connection to your phone weak. You switch to FM, flinching at the roaring static that comes through, finger jamming on the arrows to skip through to something passable.

Country. Country. Church. Country. Rock. Pop. 

You leave it on the pop station, turning your eyes back to the road. A logging truck comes roaring up the hill, blasting by your sedan at top speed, making your car shake. Your heart squeezes in fear. You’ve passed over two dozen of them and they never drive any slower or any safer each time. 

You’re going to kill Hanna if you find her lounging in her house, making you come all this way.

She had taken up a story there, investigating the town's eerie occult background for the media company that she worked for. Her editor had stopped receiving updates from her around the same time you’d stopped hearing from her. 

When you called the landlord she was renting from, he was no help. Some idiot who owned seventeen houses dotted around the country, renting them out for twice the price they were worth. 

The local police station had been worse. They’d done a wellness check several times after you called but insisted she wasn’t home. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. No reason to be missing. They refused to make it an official report, as there was no reason for her to be missing. 

Have you considered she just doesn’t want to talk to you? they’d laughed on the phone. 

It was a joke. Somehow you could not believe they refused to file a report, and you threatened to take it to the state police and anyone who would listen to you. The woman you had spoken to had chuckled then, her mirth sending a chill up your spine. 

Have fun on hold, sweetheart.

You could not fathom how not a single person cared. Not the news, not any authority that you could get in contact with, and certainly not the lawyer you reached out to. 

Let law enforcement handle it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and it was like it didn’t even matter that an entire person was missing. You’d heard about the blunders of the law enforcement system before, but this was a new level of ignorance and oddity.

It was… unexplainable. 

Which was why now, you were driving into the backwater town of Kill Devil in the southern part of the United States. 

Dropping your speed down, you take the chance to look around. There are a few houses on the outskirts of the town, their yards sprawling with kudzu and their homes leaning heavily with brown vines climbing up the eaves. There are several old, broken-down trucks in the middle of the kudzu fields, swallowed by the invasive vine-like devil’s snare. 

You’d heard of one-stop-light-towns but you had never seen one without. Kill Devil is made up of all stop signs. Everything is built around the courthouse, a red brick building dropped in the middle like a fungus growing its roots outward.

The sheriff’s office is just across the street with Crown Victoria model patrol cars. A taxidermist is right next door, the gold cursive font on the front of the glass door telling you it’s been there since the 70s. 

Kill Devil has everything you expect. Antique shops with dusty windows and dry-rotted awnings, a convenience store that looks straight out of retro America, closed-down shops with empty shelves and shattered glass, and a single diner with station wagons and mud-slicked trucks in the parking lot. 

A single motel stands at the edge of the town center. When you pull into the parking lot, you look up at the sign and frown. Like something out of a horror movie, the Lodging Motel is missing several letters in long-burnt-out neon, three letters blinking in the fading afternoon sun: Lodging Motel. 

Die.

With one look at the crusted, three-paneled windows and mold-covered brick face, you think that you just might die. 

Pink sun sinks behind the rolling hills of pine. You get out of the car, stretching and popping your joints as you look at your lodging with a sour taste in your mouth. You pass the ‘vacant’ sign as you walk to the small square building at the end with ‘front office’ on the window. 

“Yeah no shit,” you mutter. You cannot imagine who would stay here out of anything but necessity. 

In fact, it seems like there is no one staying at the hotel. This fact makes you jumpy as you approach the office, which is just a clerk's window and a woman with sunken eyes and a scowl on her face watching you. You swallow thickly as you give her a weak smile and nervous wave, trying to get past the sudden anxiety trembling in your hands. 

“Hi,” you say. “I have a reservation for-”

A small window that’s about six inches tall and a foot wide pops open. She hacks, fluid-sounding and phlegmy before saying, “I can’t hear you with the damn window closed. What do you want?” 

You clench your jaw. Slowly, you begin again. “I have a reservation.”

“ID and credit card.” 

You slide the materials through the window. She holds them up close to her face, scrutinizing them. Crickets join the singing of the locusts. Mosquitos fly around your head and you cringe, swatting at them as you wait while she rolls her chair over to a cabinet.

Wordlessly, she puts your credit card on a manual credit card imprinter. You raise your brows, unsure of the last time you’ve seen someone do paper credit card printing instead of sliding it through a machine. 

While you wait, you look past her into the office. It’s dingy inside but you can see a box TV and a window unit air conditioner rattling in the window. There are metal cabinets that form their own little skyscrapers around her office. An episode of I Love Lucy plays on the fuzzy TV screen. 

“Here’s your room key.” She tosses it through the window. It’s room three, the key hanging on a diamond-shaped, acrylic keychain with Lodging Motel written in Sharpie. “We don’t got room service or maid service. If you need more towels, the launder-mat is down the street. Don’t run the hot water more than twenty minutes or so. If the AC ain’t on, hit ‘er a few times.” 

“Great,” you deadpan. “Anything else?”

She scowls. “Mind the raccoons. They got rabies.” 

“Thanks.”

Inside the room is just as expected: peeling wallpaper, red shag carpet with questionable stains and the unmistakable stench of cigarettes, sconce lighting with lampshades that look decades old, a twin with a horrible patterned blanket, frayed at the edges and moth-eaten, and a single, square dresser with a box TV on top and a white, corded phone. 

The bathroom is no better. The tub is stained with limescale, cracked tiles, and a lamp that buzzes when you flip it on. You scream when you see the massive roach hanging out in the tub, gagging and running out to look for anything to kill it with. 

You settle on a sneaker, and it’s a battle involving your high-pitched scream as you try and kill it. You do win, but you’re covered in sweat and shaking after your victory.

A sharp knock on the door startles you further. You drift to the front door, looking out the peephole to find that it is cracked and you cannot see the person standing just on the other side. You slide the chain lock in and open the door tentatively, peering out into the now early night. 

“Everything okay?” a male voice asks. “I heard screaming.” 

The voice belongs to someone who absolutely does not belong in Kill Devil. He’s dressed in jeans with large rips at the knee and a plain white shirt that hangs off his frame stylishly. He has a few necklaces on, a single hoop hanging from his right ear that catches the flickering parking lot light. 

And he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stuns you. He has a slender face with smooth, flowing skin. His eyes are kind, glittering brown with flecks of lighter shades throughout. The slope of his cheekbones and jawline makes you think perhaps he’s into modeling, which would explain the taste in clothes. 

But it does not explain what someone who looks like that is doing in this shithole town. 

“I had to kill a roach,” you admit, a little hesitant. Your skin tingles under his gaze, your instincts picking up something that you can’t put your thumb on. “I don’t like them very much and it was fast.”

“Disgusting. I had to buy killer for them - it came in a two-pack if you want?” You don’t answer, watching him warily. He picks up on your anticipation and smiles, disarming. “Sorry - my name is Hoseok. You can call me Hobi, if you’d like. I’m staying next door which is just as gross as your room is I’m sure. I heard you yell and I got worried.”

“That’s kind of you. This doesn’t seem like a place where people would care if they heard  screaming.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not from here.” He looks around the parking lot and his eyes focus on a raccoon meandering near the trash. You grimace, thinking about rabies. “Thank fuck, this place feels right out of fucking Deliverance.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling better at his distaste. “One sec, let me slide the lock off.” You close the door and slide the chain before opening it a little wider this time. “Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to be here long.”

“A night is long enough. You want that spray?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” 

Hoseok grins and holds up a finger, asking you to wait as he jogs to his room. He’s only gone for a moment, leaving you in the poorly lit lot with the tk tk tk of the raccoon pilfering through trash and the crickets creek creek creeking. 

Hoseok’s door opens and he’s back, handing you a large, red can of lemon-scented Raid. “Just make sure you drown them. They did outlive the dinosaurs. Makes you wonder what the hell is in that stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem…” He drifts off, unsure what your name is. You laugh, a little flustered by the way his entire face lights up when he smiles, and give him your name. “I like it. Well, I don’t know how long you’re here, but I’m your neighbor for a few days. Try not to catch any infections while you’re in there and holler if you need me.”

“Thanks,” you grin. You hold up the can and add, “Especially for this.”

With a wave goodnight, Hoseok returns to his room. The buzz of something instinctual fades with him, replaced once more with the unsettling frequency the town seems to vibrate at. 

Closing the door firmly behind you and flicking the lock, you shiver. The eerie feeling that had been following you lingers.

After changing the sheets, inspecting the rest of the room and setting the spray can firmly on the pillow next to you, you lay on your back in bed, mattress lumpy and air conditioner rattling. 

-

Moonlight streams through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air and turning them into diamonds. You stand in the middle of the room. Cold but humid air clings to your skin, the air conditioner rattling and dripping as it cools the room but does nothing to suck out the moisture. You don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the room and you don’t remember waking up and getting out of bed, but you face the window, the curtains open just enough to face the empty parking lot. 

Silence blankets the world. The hum of the air conditioner fades and you stare out into the silver-painted parking lot. Above the lot, a street light flickers on and off weakly. It goes out for a minute and flashes back on.

Someone leans against the pole. You can’t make out any features, just that there is a person there, perhaps facing you. The hair on your skin stands on end but you can’t move. Your instincts begin to prickle and there is a sharp feeling in your chest.

Belatedly, beyond your hypnotized stare, you realize the feeling is fear.

Your ears start to ring. You stare out at the shadow and the shadow stares back. Something is telling you to run run run but you don’t know how. Can’t move your feet. Panic begins to rise, your heart beating so fast that you can hear it over the steady whine in your ears. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump. 

You can feel your pulse skyrocketing, your chest squeezing tight with terror as the beating gets louder and louder -

Awareness hits you like cold water. You lurch forward in bed, hands flying to your chest as you gasp for air. It takes a moment to get your bearings, the pounding in your heart so hard it feels like you might vomit. Battling the sheets, you rip them off of you, legs sticky with a sheen of sweat. 

The lamp is still on in your room, the curtains are closed just the way you left them, and the bug killer rolls on the bed as you get up. Several paces away from the window, you catch your breath, running a hand over your face. 

“Fuck,” you pant, realizing you were dreaming. 

When your breathing levels out, you glance at the closed curtains. Something niggles at your brain. Slowly, you walk toward the window, feeling the hairs on your arms tingle and stand on end.

Lifting your shaking hands, you grip the curtain tight. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in and pull open the curtain just a bit. 

Unlike your dream, there’s no moonlight outside. It’s so dark you almost can’t see anything in the parking lot. When the lot light flickers back on, your heart squeezes, expecting to see a shadow leaning against the pole. There’s nothing there, just empty lot and a dumpster. Not even the raccoon is around. 

Blowing out your held breath, you close the curtain again and shake out your hands, trying to get rid of the jitters. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you try to work out the tension as you sit on the end of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper. 

The dream felt so real. You swear that if you turn your head, you’ll see silver moonlight through the curtains. That you’ll see that person - that shadow - standing outside of your window. 

Exhaustion weighs heavy on you. You crawl back into bed, mattress damp and smelling like mildew even with the sheets that you put on it. You’re under a lot of stress and you hate this motel room as much as you already hate this town that you’ve barely started to explore. It makes sense that you’re having weird dreams. 

Blanket pulled up to your chin, you eventually let your lids flutter shut until you’re taken by dreamless sleep. 

-

Morning sun chases away the dregs of your strange dream from the night before. With daylight streaming between the curtains, the room looks no better. It’s a futile hope, perhaps, to keep thinking that the room will suddenly not look nearly as questionable as when you checked in. 

At least there are no bugs. 

Outside, the balmy air is filled with the voices of the locusts. You lock the door behind you and glance toward where Hoseok vanished the night before. His windows are closed and there’s no sign of him anywhere in the parking lot, so you head to your car, stomach begging for food. 

Kill Devil is small in both size and population. The Diner is easy to find, tucked in the southwest corner of the town across from the courthouse. Folks wander about the parking lot, shaking one another’s hands and laughing as the weekend rush of people meanders up the steps for breakfast. 

Your arrival is noted immediately. Eyes turn your way as you walk through the lot, loose gravel crunching under your feet. The lot is more packed dirt than pavement, full of holes and mud softened by rain. 

Seeing a new face in a wretched little town like this probably isn’t common. Though you’re not familiar with growing up in such a small population, you remember what it was like knowing everyone at school. The same theory applies here when a portly man with raised brows stands, screen door in hand as he stares at you.

The man blocks the way to the inside of the diner. You pause and look up, noting the confusion on his face. After clearing your throat, he realizes that he’s completely frozen from opening the door and coughs, bowing his head and apologizing. 

“You uh - visiting?” he asks, holding the door open for you. When you nod, he seems surprised, though that had to be the only answer. “Well, that doesn’t happen often. Welcome to Kill Devil.”

There’s a small host stand with a pile of laminated menus on top. A girl who looks to be about your age stares back at you, wiping her hands on a red apron tied around her waist. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says The Diner across the chest, her hair pulled up and stabbed through with a pen. 

“Just you?” she asks, eyes fluttering to the man who shrugs behind you. You nod. “Right this way.” 

The wooden walls are painted white, some of the paint peeling. There are miscellaneous animal heads with plaques underneath stating the names of their killers with a stamp of Jason’s Taxidermy. You try not to make eye contact with their black, glass eyes as you sit in a chair that wobbles from side to side.

You thank the hostess as she wanders off to get you coffee. The family at the table next to you does their best to whisper about who the hell is that as you look over the menu, flipping it to the breakfast side. The laminate is sticky and peeling at the corners. 

It’s a pretty standard breakfast menu. You put it down on the table, nudging the container holding different colored sugar packets and sweeteners while you wait for your coffee. There’s a breakfast bar with people bent over steaming eggs and sitting atop cracked vinyl seats. 

The door opens behind you at a steady rate as people pay their bills and leave while new customers are sitting. A presence at your back sends a cool tingle up your spine, making you straighten and look over your shoulder.

Hoseok stands in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, turning him gold. For a moment, the diner around you falls to a hush of murmured voices, muting the clinking of spoons against ceramic and scraping chairs.

He’s dressed well again, in a simple white button-up with the button undone to reveal a strip of golden chest. His hair is slightly damp and styled back, an outrageously good look on him. The same hoop earring dangles in his ear but today he has on a few necklaces and rings on his fingers. Somehow, he makes the delicate pieces carry an edge. 

“You survived the night, huh?” he says by way of greeting and then gestures to the chair across from you. “Would you mind company for breakfast?” 

You shake your head, forgetting words for a moment as he smiles, radiant as ever. Hoseok pulls out the chair and sits down, a twinkle in his eye that makes your heart flutter as he plucks a menu from the holder at the center of the table. You can smell his rain and lavender scent from across the table. 

“Thanks again,” you say, realizing you haven’t spoken yet. His brown eyes look at you over the top of the menu, and you can’t help but admire how beautiful they are. Warm, both dark and light, with flecks of chipped gold. “For the bug killer. I haven’t seen any more but I just know they’re there.”

“That’s the shitty thing about the South. All of God's least favorite creatures are here.” He glances at the table of scowling men next to you to emphasize. You hide your laughter with the plastic menu. “What brings you to this shit hole?”

“I’m… visiting my sister.”

“You sound unsure of that. Does she not know you’re coming?”

“She doesn’t.”

While they aren’t technically lies, you don’t know how much you can trust him. Instinct makes you hold the truth from him. After all, you don’t want him to know you’re in a town where no one knows you, and where no one knows you are. By yourself.

Hoseok looks at you again, his eyes narrowed. You feel tension creep into the air between you, your mouth drying out as he watches you silently. 

The arrival of the hostess who is also your server saves you from another question. You both place your order, and you note the way the girl cuts her eyes to Hoseok, wary. Her hands shake a little.

When she leaves the two of you, you ask, “How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

“Enough to win over the locals, hmm?”

His grin is sly as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m their favorite - you’re perceptive.” 

“My sister is an investigative journalist. She’s made me watch all kinds of shows and read books about psychology and body language with her. I picked up a few things.”

“An investigative journalist, huh?” Hoseok plucks a sugar packet and rips it open with his teeth. He shoots the ripped piece onto the table with a huff of air and dumps the contents on the table. Leaning on one elbow, he begins to trace patterns in the sugar. “So you’re not from here. No one here is smart enough for that.”

“No, she’s been living here since July.” 

“What’s she investigating?” You hesitate again. He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s tracing on the table, finger steady as it cuts through the white sugar.

“I don’t really know.” He does look up when you say that, gaze razor-sharp. A chill slides up your spine. So you add, “Something to do with the occult.”

Hoseok stops moving his finger through the sugar. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s fixated on the mess he’s made on the table. You chew on your bottom lip, eyes dropping to his little sweetened artwork. You don’t understand the pattern that he’s traced, but it buzzes your brain when you look at it.

The silence stretches on. He remains unmoving and silent. Anxiety starts to creep in and you wonder if he thinks you’re crazy or is going to get up and leave-

With a huff of laughter, he leans back and smiles at you. 

“The occult huh? Interesting subject.”

“Know anything about it?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, what is really considered occult? Most of these Bible thumpers around here would consider being queer witchcraft.” 

“You have a point there. Don’t tell them I’m a witch.”

He grins. “You can join my coven, then.” 

“Do you think they know there’s more than two genders?”

Hoseok’s laugh is infectious. You laugh along with him, visibly ruffling the feathers of the table next to you. 

For a moment, the two of you share a secret smile at your little table, wedged between the people who go to church every Sunday and swear by Fox News at brunch. It feels good to know you’re not the only person completely out of place in Kill Devil. 

The arrival of your server with steaming plates breaks the moment, but you feel better about your morning nonetheless. Especially when the conversation switches from stilted exchanges about your sister and the occult to things about you and Hoseok. 

Over runny eggs on toast and crunchy bacon, you learn that Hoseok is a shop owner in a small town very far from Kill Devil. He brushes over the fact that he’s visiting family to tell you all about his small corner of the world and all of his favorite plants. 

“Fiona is a venus fly trap,” he giggles with a snap of bacon. “She’s my second favorite, but what I really love is my pitcher plants. They eat bugs, mostly, but they like to devour frogs too. The frogs love to hide in them, but sometimes the pitcher plants take kindly to them and don’t eat them. It never lasts.” 

“I would hate for them to eat the frogs.”

“Hmm, circle of life.”

“But the poor frogs!”

Hoseok isn’t swayed. “There has to be a balance to everything. The pitcher plants will kill the frogs eventually. Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey. Their ecosystem doesn’t make sense. In order to pay back the food the pitcher plants bring them, the frog must die. It pays for power, in the end.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything has a give and take.” He pauses to sip his coffee. He makes a face, opens a sugar packet, and empties it into the coffee. “In order to have life, we must have death. In order to have water, we must have fire, for earth, we must have air. There is a give and take in existence, and it has to stay that way.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“Chaos.”

“You know, a lot of theology believes that chaos created the world.”

“And perhaps it did. But in order to make the world, chaos needed…” Hoseok takes his butter knife in one hand and sticks out his pointer finger with the other. You watch as he places the knife horizontally across his finger, sliding it just so until he slowly lets it go, leaving it teetering back and forth, but never falling. “Balance. There has to be even weight on the scales to make it work.” 

“Interesting. So you think there is true balance in the world.”

“Not always, which is why we must make it.”

“Hmm. You have some interesting opinions.” 

“I am an interesting person.”

You like Hoseok. Conversation flows easily and it seems that he either doesn’t notice or does not care that he draws glances around the room, particularly when he gives a high-pitched laugh, leaning backward on the metal legs of his chair to clap his hands excitedly. You swear you see the table next to you flinch, though you can’t imagine why.

Hoseok insists on paying the bill, though you fight him all the way to the register. The elderly woman behind the till jams the pricing in from the ticket and slams the cash drawer shut when Hoseok hands over the bills. She makes sure not to tell you to have a good day, and you feel her sharp stare as you leave the interior of The Diner. 

In fact, the stares of the citizens are just as intense outside. Hoseok rattles on about a time he got really high and forgot to feed his cat. “Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you ask, distracted by the way a group of men leaning against a red pickup glare. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

“No, but I’m sure he was very vocal.” Hoseok smirks, toeing the gravel of the parking lot as you reach your car. You glance over at the pickup truck again, seeing the four sets of eyes fixated on the two of you. “Why does everyone around here stare?”

“They’ll ignore you soon enough if you ignore them.”

“They don’t seem to ignore you.”

He gives you a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. Going to visit your sister, then?”

Digging around in your bag, you search for keys. “Yeah, she lives out in some place called Grave Hollow. How creepy is that?” 

Silence is your only answer. You look up, pausing the search for your keys to find him staring at you with a blank expression. Your heart skips a beat - it’s the same wiped-clean face he had when you mentioned your sister investigating the occult. 

Licking your lips, you ignore the feeling of a weighted stone dropping into your stomach. Hoseok says nothing.

Then, he’s chipper again. “Well have fun,” he chirps, shrugging and giving a wave as he backs away to leave. “Hopefully she has some cool occult stuff to tell you about. You know where to find me!

It’s hard to keep track of the way Hoseok’s mood flips on a dime. You stare after him, but he’s all smiles and sunshine again before turning on a heel to walk out of the parking lot. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he tilts his face toward the azure sky, whistling a tune with a happy cadence. 

Something sticks to you as you watch him leave. You don’t know what it is, this feeling that you’re missing a critical detail. It’s like your instincts are scratching lightly at the door, but you have no key to flip the lock and no crowbar to force it open. 

Anxiety returns when you remember the weight of the eyes still focused on you. Hurriedly, you snatch your keys from your bag and get in your car, tossing your bag on the seat and starting the engine. As soon as it purrs to life, you feel instant relief. 

You hope that it lasts.

-

According to the research you’d done on Kill Devil, the town had been officially founded in the 1700s. Of course, being ‘officially’ founded didn’t mean much in the way of Western colonization. You had little doubt that the migration of people to the South chased out Native American tribes, as was the story everywhere. 

Kill Devil has been named such since its inception, which occurred a little after Georgia had been named an official state. The abundance of soil for cotton and peanut fields made it a wet dream for the expansion of cotton gins and eventually, peanuts - there was even a rumor that peanut butter had been invented in Kill Devil first, but you knew that to be untrue. 

A small town with a small impact. That was Kill Devil at the heart of its existence. It has always had a small population of sleepy folk. No stop lights, one church, a lot of paper companies coming in and cutting down trees, and some farming fields for various reasons.

There’s no reason that for a tiny little dot on the map, the town should be significant. 

And yet it had called your sister here. 

The car bounces, the suspension whining as you drive down the dirt road. A clay wall comes up on either side of you, roots of trees sticking out periodically. There’s no shoulder to the road, the rain has deepened the ruts on either side. You’re careful to keep in the middle, slowing down as the road tightens on corners. 

Pine stretches as far as the eye can see. You pass the occasional neon tape, marking sections of trees for the paper company to let grow a little longer before hacking them down. Several metal gates with keep out and declaring different hunting clubs flash by. There’s even a sign that says Rucker’s Meat Processing. 

GPS is unreliable out in the sticks where the cell towers don’t quite reach. You keep an eye on the flattened paper map in the passenger seat, marked with your red marker to make sure you take the right road.

A sigh of relief escapes you when you see a little metal post with a turn-off sign: Kill Ditch South. The house that your sister is renting lives off of that, only a mile down the road or so. Long drives appear between the trees, houses parked at the end of them. You feel a little less alone in the woods now knowing that there are people around. 

Though you’re not sure how helpful they would be if something was wrong. 

Worry creeps into your stomach as you slow the car. There’s a little mailbox with the address your sister gave you. It’s at the end of a short drive that’s been layered with gravel to make the incline easier on tires. It crunches beneath the tires as you drive toward the modest, white house. Your sister’s Four Runner is parked outside, making your heart thunder. 

Turning the car off, you slide out into the humid air, hands trembling. Locusts scream, hidden in the trees. The sun is at its zenith, beating down on you as you slowly walk toward the house. It’s a single-story with two sets of windows facing the front. A wrap-around porch that leans to the side stands empty, save for a single bench. 

As you pass your sister's car, you notice that the grass underneath is dead and dry. As if the car hasn’t moved for a while, denying the grass any sun to live. It makes you feel nauseous, feet like anvils as you take your first step up the stairs. 

The creak of the wood makes you flinch. 

“Hanna?” You call, voice shakier than you want it to be. “Hanna, it’s me! Don’t freak out!”

No one answers. Your stomach bubbles like acid, the slow drip of sweat down your neck making a chill rattle up your spine. You reach the door and swallow thickly, lifting your hands and knocking loudly. 

“Hanna?” 

Nothing but the sound of the locusts answers you. 

Your palms feel sweaty as you knock again. This time, your voice cracks when you call, “Hanna? Please answer the door.”

Wind sweeps across the trees. One thing about the wind in a land of pines and hills is that it’s loud, making a whooshing sound as it’s picked up by the boughs of the trees, rattling and letting their needles shake to the floor. 

It’s cool at your back and you feel your lip wobble when you lower your hand to the doorknob. When you twist, the door opens immediately, swinging of its own volition when you let go. 

Inside the house is the kind of silence that terrifies you in horror movies. The air is heavy. Your ears ring, searching for any rasp of sound to tell you that your sister is home. Licking your lips, you step over the threshold, the wooden floor cracking beneath the weight of your feet. 

To the immediate left of the door is an open kitchen. There are dishes on the dry rack and plants in the window, though they are wilted and dry. You chew your lip as you step further into the house, eyes sweeping around.

A blue, painted table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Piles of mail sit on top of it with a fake plant centerpiece and your sister's car keys.

Across from the kitchen is an open doorway with a stacked washer and dryer, and a folding table. It smells faintly of detergent, clothes folded in neat piles as if Hanna had just completed a laundry day.

Everything is silent in the living room. The couch looks cozy, with piles of blankets draped across it. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, though the wick on the candle doesn’t look like it’s been lit in a while. Dust collects on the TV stand and there are sandals by the door that leads to the back porch. 

Chewing your lip, you gently press your fingers to the door of Hanna’s bedroom, holding your breath. The sudden fear that it’s going to swing open and you’ll find your sister dead in her bed nearly incapacitates you, making the room spin a little as the door fully swings open. 

Nothing. No Hanna, no rotting smell of a dead body. Just an unmade bed in a room that smells vaguely of her cherry perfume, a bathroom with the door open, and a pile of clothes near the hamper.

The sight of the clothes on the floor and right next to the hamper slams you with a wave of nostalgia. You walk into the room and you unceremoniously plop yourself down on the edge of the bed. It sags underneath you but you don’t care, letting your face fall into your hands and letting a sob rip through you. 

Hanna isn’t here. You knew she wouldn’t be, but the relief that you don’t find her dead is so poignant that you can barely breathe past the snot clotting your nose and the way your throat constricts as you let out the fear. 

The sobs subside and you wipe your face, hands coming away sticky and wet. Through swollen eyes, you look around the room. With a wipe of your hands on your jeans, you get up and start looking around, pulling open drawers and looking for evidence of the last time that Hanna was in this home. 

It’s slow going. You’re unfamiliar with the space and you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t seem like she had packed anything, but then again, how would you know if she did? 

There are signs that she hasn’t been in the house in weeks. Rotted food inside of the fridge, molded bread in the pantry. 

Outside, weeds grow around the steps. A cricket pops from the railing to the grass where its green body vanishes. The yard isn’t much of a yard - it’s open to the trees and a kudzu field to the west. 

Back inside, you grab Hanna’s keys and open her car. There is nothing inside that looks like she was trying to make a quick getaway. An extra pair of shoes shoved in the back, and an empty grocery bag she was using for trash - all normal things. 

In the passenger seat, you strike gold. 

Hanna’s journals and folders sit in the passenger seat, stacked in a leaning tower with pages sticking out from the edges of her books and slanted handwriting scrawled on the folder tabs. Gathering all of it, you head back inside and deposit the stack on the kitchen table before looking around the house again to see if there’s any sign of her. 

Something in your gut tells you that Hanna hasn’t been in the home for at least a month, if not more. 

Dread creeps into your stomach as you gather items and pack a bag. Your intention is to keep it on you at all times in the event that you find her cold and alone somewhere. The thought of needing it leaves a sour tang on your tongue, but you pack it nevertheless.

Bag over your shoulder and stack of Hanna’s investigative work in hand, you head off to your room at the motel. The afternoon sun still burns hot over your head, but you have no intention of sitting in the empty house that carries the scent of your sister’s absence. 

-

… While most historical accounts and official state documents indicate that Kill Devil was founded in 1730, journals buried deep in the city’s crumbling library have written records of townsfolk living in this settled town long before it was declared an official town. The journals reference the town as Covenstead and are filled with generations of the same family names. 

Booth. 

Park. 

Warren. 

Kim. 

Jung. 

Jeon. 

Min. 

Generations of these families settled in Covenstead and built what is now Kill Devil. From the description of the town in the collection of journals, it appears that the general layout of the town is similar to Kill Devil’s current city map. 

Throughout the journals, there is a reference to the Wood. It seems to be a place mentioned in reverence, and there are allusions to celebrations in the Wood with entries dated in alignment with sabbats on the Wheel of the Year. 

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe seeing him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter. 

Your finger traces over your sister’s writing. She still writes in her cramped, crooked way, with the sabbats of pagan holidays crammed in the margins. You smile, biting your bottom lip again as you go through the written notes of her study. It is dizzying and you’re unsure what exactly you’re looking at, but something tickles the back of your mind as you reread the entry she copied from the long-dead Yoongi Min. There’s something you're missing.

This time, your eyes snag on a word. 

“The Covenstead,” you murmur, reading it over again. “Why would he call it the Covenstead? Is that just an older way of speaking?”

A tingle pricks your neck as you stare at the entry. You can’t understand what made your sister think this entry was odd besides the old-fashioned writing and reference to Mabon, because she writes nothing more on her analysis, and none of the journals she had been studying were anywhere you could find. 

Sighing, you push away her notebook and pull out a collection of folders and papers that she had on the town. It’s mostly renderings of the town in its heyday with maps and newspaper articles. There seems to be no correlation between her clippings of new business openings and random town news. 

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

The Grove Neighborhood Building Plans Accepted by Mayor

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

Something catches your eye in the article about the mayor’s son who fell into a well and died at the bottom. You reach for your sister's notebook and flip to read the small dates shoved into the margins.

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

June 19, 1781

Litha: Summer Solstice

June 19-23

Grabbing the other newspaper clippings, you climb off of the bed and lay them flat against the sheets, each crinkling under the excited press of your fingers as your brain whirs. It’s a puzzle your sister seems to have figured out already, and one you don’t expect to understand.

But you do. 

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

February 14, 1899

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

March 19, 1899

Ostara: Spring Equinox

March 19-22

You suck in a breath as you look at the next clipping, using your pointer finger to keep your place on the sabbats calendar your sister has written down to see that the article for the new neighborhood The Grove is dated only a month before the mayor's son fell tragically in the well. 

“Holy shit, Hanna,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your mouth and staring with burning eyes at the dates. “They match with pagan rituals? Something good, followed by something bad… like revenge? Punishment? Payment?” 

The question bothers you. A flutter in your gut tells you that you’re asking the right questions as you stare at the pages, unseeing and trying to understand what your sister is getting at. She didn’t write down her thoughts explicitly - in case anyone stole her work, she’d said - and now you’re wishing she weren’t so paranoid. Or that she at least used a computer. 

It isn’t an easy answer to puzzle out. An ache has settled deep in your temples and your half-eaten dinner has long gone cold. You decide you’ve earned a shower, though you don’t go into the bathroom without the bug spray armed and ready. 

Briefly, you think about Hoseok. Such an oddity to the town. You can’t help but think about the way he changes from light to dark so quickly, face becoming shadowed and eyes masked, expression there and gone so quickly that you’re unsure if you saw it at all. 

Strange. It’s all very strange. 

-

There is a shadow in the parking lot again. This time, it’s closer. The bulb burning above the lot flickers, but stays on. The shadow stands just beyond the silver halo of light it distributes.

No moon hangs in the sky. It is dark dark dark - impossibly dark. You stare through a crack in your curtains, watching the shadow as it watches you. Dread weighs down the pit of your stomach and you feel a fresh wave of terror-laced nausea sweep through you. 

You slide a foot backward gently, preparing to step away from the window. The shadow twitches and cocks its head to the side, not unlike a dog curious about something it’s heard. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, air screaming in your lungs, heart racing a frantic staccato. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it seems to say, beating until it’s all you can hear and feel, pumping your system so full of adrenaline that you feel light-headed. 

Your heart turns into a drum, frantic. It beats louder and louder and you feel rooted to your spot on the carpet, the soles of your feet surgical-stitched to the ugly shag carpet. You stare and stare and stare at the shadow and your heart is hammering so loud boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM-

Sweat-drenched and gasping for air, you sit up. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it under the palm you have pressed against your chest. But the banging is coming from the hotel door, a steady stream of closed-fist hammering and Hoseok’s voice calling your name. 

Peeling the covers back from your damp skin, you stumble to the door, nightmare-drunk and disoriented. You forget to remove the chain from the door, yanking it open and immediately slamming it to a stop as the chain pulls, refusing to let the door open.

Hoseok is on the other side, hair slightly disheveled, brows pulled together. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a casual look by anyone’s standards but still effortlessly put together. 

“Shit, hold on,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth with sleep. Closing the door, you slide the chain out, then reopen it successfully. “Sorry, is everything-”

“What’s going on?”

“What?”

His gaze is thunderous as he looks past you into your room. “You were screaming at the top of your lungs.”

Heat flushes your neck and face. “I-I’m sorry. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m not mad. What’s going on?”

In the shadow of the night, he looks dangerous, made up of edges and eyes narrowed. “Can I come in?” 

You open the door and move out of his way. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Out of habit, you latch the door when you shut it.

Hoseok is a little out of place in your room. Even when dressed down, he looks like he belongs on a private jet, lounging among soft, polished leather and sipping exotic coffee. Not in a rundown motel room with peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained ceilings. 

“What’s all this?” Your stomach plummets when he sees the journals and papers on your bed. you rush to shove it all under the blanket but Hoseok is fast, plucking a sheet of paper and looking over it, face pinched. “Is this what you meant by your sister studies the occult?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just um- looking over her work.” 

“You know about the occult?”

“Not at all.”

He glances at you, razor-sharp. “Then why would you be looking it over for her?”

The atmosphere shifts. It occurs to you that he doesn’t know your sister is missing. Has no idea that you’re desperately trying to put together pieces of a broken puzzle, without any clue on where to find the remaining parts to view the entire picture. 

You weigh the options of lying, losing precious time as the silence hangs heavy and awkward between the two of you. He watches, brows raised and expectant, fingers gripping the paper. 

“My sister is missing.” It feels weird to say it. Your tongue feels heavy and as you stare over his shoulder at a fixed spot on the wall, it feels like someone else enters your body to tell him, “I came here because no one would help me find her. She was here studying the town's occult myths for work and vanished. I had this… horrible feeling when she stopped calling and answering.”

“Have you contacted the authorities?”

You scoff and throw a glare at him. “Of course I have. It’s useless and frustrating. No one seems to give a shit that there is a missing person, and every lawyer, law officer and city official I talk to don’t fucking care. It’s like they’re all programmed to give me the same answer. They keep telling me that they’ve seen her around or that she’s probably ignoring me on purpose. They make me seem crazy.”

You expect him to tell you to leave it to the authorities. That’s what Hanna’s boss had told you to do. No one seems to be alarmed, no one cares. But you do. Desperately. And you cannot wrap your head around them looking the other way. 

You’re preparing for the same reaction when Hoseok surprises you by saying, “You’re not crazy.”

“I’m not?”

He quirks a brow and his rosebud lips twitch in a smirk. “Well, you probably are. But not for this. Have you asked around town about her?”

You shake your head. “I only went to the house that she was staying at. I wanted to see if maybe she really was ignoring me or maybe just… I don’t know. In the zone for work. She wasn’t there and it doesn’t look like there was any sign of distress.” 

“Take me there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” He tosses the papers onto the pile on your bed. “We’ll be safe.”

“First of all,” you hedge. “How do I know that? I barely know you. Second of all, what is going there in the middle of the night going to help?”

“I’m good at investigating. Maybe I’ll see something that you don’t.”

“Sorry, are you a cop now?”

“No, it’s hard to explain but I promise I’m trying to help you.” When you don’t move, Hoseok grimaces. “Look,” he explains evenly. “I really am trying to help you. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here in this town. I came because I was also interested in some things happening here. Now I’m worried your sister is involved.”

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “Involved how?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Believe it or not, those do happen. But I’d like to visit her house to see if there’s anything at all that sticks out to me.” You hesitate, chewing on your lip. You don’t really know him, and now you trust him even less with his reasoning. “Please,” he adds. 

You relent. “Fine.” Hanna is your main goal. You don’t trust Hoseok, but you wonder if he really can help you when no one else has. “Let’s go.” 

Damp air rushes through the open windows of your car. You lowered them as you got in for a quick escape if Hoseok attacks you while you drive. He says nothing in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the pine trees rushing behind you. 

Outside, the world is painted night-blue from the moon. There’s a weird hue to everything, making it feel as though you’re wading with heavy limbs through a dream. It’s no better when you arrive at the dark house.

It looks terrifying at night. There’s no street light to guide you, only that of the silver moon and the bright halogen lights of your car. You turn off your vehicle but switch the headlights on, turning on the high beams to shine on the house. 

On the edges of where the light fades to shadow, your fear lies. The trees look taller than in the daylight, their branches like craggy limbs and reaching fingers. Anxiety bubbles uncomfortably in your stomach. 

Each crunch of the grass beneath your feet falls too loud against the heavy silence. Here, you notice that the crickets are no longer singing. It’s just the hush of the wind gusting through the canyons and the far-away swell as it blows up the hills. 

Though it’s not cool outside, there’s a chill on your skin. Hoseok walks up to the house, the beams of the car’s headlights throwing his shadow across it in jarring, monstrous shapes. You keep your eyes focused on him and your keys tucked in your hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed. 

Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned about your anxiety or the silence thrumming around the home. He walks up the steps and opens the door, vanishing into the dark mouth of the threshold. For a moment, you stand in the front yard, getting tunnel vision as you stare at the darkness in the doorway. 

You imagine stepping over the threshold into that cool dark, letting it suck you in. You imagine that as soon as your shoes hit the creaking floor, Hoseok will snatch you by the waist and pull you into the belly of the beast. Once in his clutches, he’ll throw you to the ground and the last thing you’ll remember is-

Hoseok reappears in the doorway. You blink and the waking nightmare melts away, so vivid that you’re shaking where you’re standing, looking at him in confusion. He hops down the stairs, scowling as he crosses the front lawn in a few long strides. 

He pauses when he sees your face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I…” you shake your head, trying to dispel the weird vision you had a moment ago. “Nothing. I just don’t like the dark very much.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you find anything?”

His lip twitches. It’s almost impossible to detect, but you’re so focused on his face and trying not to picture him as the man in the terrifying thought you had moments ago, that you see it. “No.” 

Lying. He’s lying. You clutch your keys and your breath quickens. He moves to round the side of the car and take the passenger seat, but you step in front of him. He pulls up short, eyes narrowing as you stand between him and the vehicle, blood pumping. 

“I think you’re lying.”

“About what?”

“A lot of things.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“My instinct.”

He hums. “Instinct isn’t always a good thing.” He looks you up and down. “I didn’t find anything,” he says again. “I just got a really weird feeling inside of the house.”

“And?”

“And it’s the same weird feeling I’ve gotten in other places where people visiting went missing. Including the motel we’re staying at.” That makes you recoil. You feel the blood drain from your face, making you a little dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on, don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Your sister’s notes were about the covenstead here.”

That word again. The covenstead and not Covenstead, like a town name. “It was the town name before it was Kill Devil.” 

“No,” he corrects. “It was a landmark. A covenstead, for people who lived here. A coven.” 

“A coven.” He nods. “Like vampires and witches?” 

Hanna’s notes had included all of those pagan holidays crammed in the margins of her work. Marking dates of occurrences that coincided with sabbat holidays. “Hoseok,” you say slowly. “Are you telling me that a bunch of witches live here and have kidnapped my sister?”

He regards you for a moment, eyes flickering up and down. His face is unreadable and dark in the night air, eyes shadowed and haunting. “That’s actually exactly what I’m saying.”

“Witches aren’t real.” 

He frowns. “I can prove that they are.” 

“How?”

He gestures to the car. “Let’s go.” 

-

When you were younger, your sister always believed in magic. You remember spending all of October huddled on the couch with crocheted blankets, watching Halloween movies with the blanket pulled warm over scabbed knees, with popcorn-greased fingers tucked under heated thighs. Hanna always picked the movies - Halloween was her time of the year and you were happy to indulge. 

Hanna’s choices were always superb. Hocus Pocus received more airtime than anything else, replayed between Halloweentown one and two, Practical Magic, The Witches and The Addams Family among others. Every night of the month was crammed full of magic and spells and haunted houses, sweetened by candy corn and Butterfingers. 

Those were the nights that you loved the most. There was no fighting, no whining and crying over Hanna stealing your hair clips or you breaking her hair dryer. It was just the two of you, pressed skin-to-skin and spelled by the scrolling movies.

It’s as close to magic as you’ve ever been. You don’t think you were ever closer to her than in those moments. Under the blankets and the dim candles your mother lit, you were one being, melded. You knew when she would gasp at every jump scare and whisper each one of her favorite lines. 

Thinking back on it, you wonder if Hanna was onto something. She always insisted that parts of the movies had to be true. Stories are rooted in history, and though myth and legend changed with culture, colonization and the introduction of new religions, science and ideas, there was something about the concept of magic and spirit that felt real to her. 

It was why she went to school and majored in journalism with minors in folklore and history. She had even started a master's program for occult studies and folklore, spending late nights studying between traveling across the country from haunt to haunt for her job. 

Staring at her work on the bed of your hotel room as Hoseok adds some of his own notes and findings, you have never missed her more. There is a sudden ache inside of your chest, so strong that it takes your breath away. Your hand goes to the necklace at your neck, feeling flushed, heart pounding. 

Hoseok is explaining how there used to be a coven of witches that lived in the Wood long before Kill Devil existed. The Wood, Hoseok explains, is like a living and breathing conduit of power. It was something that gave the coven power but also needed to be fed. 

The Covenstead. You remember the journal entry that had called it the covenstead. A place where witches commune and live together as one functioning body of magic. That much power does things to a place, skews the way the world works a little bit. He gives examples of places all around the world with similar experiences: the Bermuda Triangle, Door To Hell, Reed Flute Cave. All places where an abundance of magic and energy warps the way life functions. 

But the Wood was strange before the witches got here. Hoseok rolls out a map, fingers tracing the lines of the city. Clarity snaps like a rubberband stinging against skin as you stare at it, lips parted, inhaling sharply. 

The city roads make a pentagram, and at the very center is the courthouse. 

“This is on purpose,” Hoseok explains. “There are other places in the world where the way the city or town or village is built is like a pentagram. Usually, these are called portals. They’re different from faerie rings which have their own power and distortions. These portals are for practicing witches and those who know how to use them.”

“Portals for what?”

“Creatures of great power that exist in worlds that don’t belong to us. Part of what gives witches their ability to perform magic is their energy. They are attuned to the world around them in a way that humans are not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you understand the concept of third and fourth dimensions?” 

“Third dimension is what we live in,” you answer mechanically, somewhat familiar with the idea. “If a fourth dimension existed, we wouldn’t know because it moves in a way that we are unable to perceive. The fourth dimension, in theory, is movement and sight we would never have.”

“Exactly. But witches are attuned to that. These pentagrams,” Hoseok murmurs, tapping the map. “Are made to connect to the fourth dimension. Pentagrams are not inherently evil or even paranormal, but similar to sacred geometry, they… radiate at a frequency that other dimensions do. Powerful symbols like this have existed since Mesopotamia.” 

“I… how does this prove that magic is real?”

For a moment, you’re distracted by the way Hoseok’s artful fingers pluck your sister's notebook from the bed. He flips until you’re looking at her journal entries and the newspaper clippings with dates and headlines. 

“Witchcraft is different in every culture and part of the world. These holidays have roots in Celtic and Welsh craft. It was brought over by the pilgrims when people fled England and traveled here. This is old - not as old as whatever lives in the Wood, but old enough that it’s powerful. These dates you’re looking at? They’re sacrifices to keep the Wood powerful.”

“How do you even know all of this?”

“I’ve studied it my entire life.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just something that runs in my family. We’re very spiritual people.” Something about the way his voice wavers makes you look at him sharply. Hoseok isn’t looking at you, busying himself with sifting through papers. There’s a pinch in your gut that makes you think he’s lying, but you’re afraid to push the matter. 

“Get some rest,” he says, breaking your exhausted train of thought. “We can talk more in the morning when you’re not exhausted.” 

“Yeah.” You rub your weary eyes. “Yeah, okay.” 

With Hoseok gone, you crawl into the bed, leaving the light on, staring off into the distance as your hand clutches your necklace. Your lip trembles and your throat constricts painfully. When you close your eyes, you feel tears slide down your face. 

Tucking your face into the pillow to hide your tears, you let out a small, aching sound. You just want to know where your sister is, and somehow you’ve landed in the middle of a hateful little town with strange little people and a strange little fantasy.

Crying is inevitable. But at least it puts you to sleep.

-

This time, you know you’re dreaming. You don’t know how you know, but you do. There’s a watery feeling to the hotel room when you open your eyes. As though you’re both there and you’re not.

You glance at the clock but the numbers are all wrong. You rub your eyes and look again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make sense of them.

You want to sit up. You move your arms - no, you try to move your arms. They don’t move, suddenly too heavy to slide under the covers of your blanket and peel it back. Panic sparks in you as you try to shift your legs, but though you can feel them, you can’t move them.

Terror as you’ve never known slides between your ribs, sharp and poignant. You can’t breathe and you know you’re dreaming and yet you can’t move. You close your eyes, brain repeating the same words over and over again: wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP-

It doesn’t happen. You open your eyes and your room still has the dream-glazed light to it, and you still can’t move. Something shifts in your peripheral vision. Your heart seizes in your chest so sharply you think you’ll die. 

You cannot turn your head to look at the shadow that moves just beyond your sight. Tears slip from your eyes, hot, wet and burning. You can’t wipe them. They blind you, turn your vision into an opaque, watery mess as something slides to the foot of your bed. 

When you feel the mattress dip, you try to scream. The sound is locked in your throat, with so much force behind it that you wait for your vocal cords to explode. The fear is raw now, your eyes wild, tears leaking as you mentally thrash and thrash and thrash. 

Weight shifts on either side of the bed and you have the sense that there is someone crawling on you but you can’t see beyond your crying, can’t hear beyond the pounding of your own heartbeat slamming in your ears, blocking out every other noise and-

Something invisible to you grips your throat. You still have the instinct to move, driving you to madness as your brain signals for your hands to fly to your assailant and yank and remove the hold on your neck. 

It’s crushing. You gasp for air, no noise coming out as the grip tightens, and you know with certainty that this is it. Whatever dream this is will kill you, this time. 

The realization that you’re going to die suddenly mutes the terror. It slides behind a glass door, beating its fists, but it's duller now. You have sharper clarity, and briefly you think of what Hoseok said about beings from the fourth dimension, and how the witches summon them through their craft here. To this place. Where you cannot perceive them. 

You wonder if this happened to Hanna. You miss her, your sister, with big dreams and fast smiles and a head full of magic and wondering. This, you think, is how you go. And perhaps you’ll join her. 

Thoughts blend together, sloshed wine in a glass. They’re warm and liquid and have no shape to them, no real purpose. It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what. Darkness pools at the edge of your vision. It feels cold and alone but you drift toward it, away from the pain. 

And then you can breathe. 

Air comes sweeping in, forcing its way into your mouth, into your lungs. Your lungs inflate so painfully that for a split second, you think they’re on fire. Oxygen burns its way through you and bursts of color explode on the canvas of your closed eyes - you don’t remember closing your eyes. 

You roll over in bed, coughing, mouth wet with spit and phlegm as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. 

High-pitched ringing whines in your ears, and there are muffled sounds on the other end of it. The motel room tilts back into vision, melting into place. You think that the room has reloaded into your world wrong - everything is crooked. 

Then you realize you’re laying on your side, gagging and gasping for air. There is a hand against to your back, palm cold, fingertips freezing. The touch, you realize, feels full of energy, your spine tingling where it’s pressed against you. 

Lurching away from the touch, you roll to the side of the bed, looking at the person whose hand had been pressed against you. 

Hoseok’s tangled in the sheets, hair a mess, shirtless and in sweats. He’s panting, flushed, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his body. But it’s his eyes that stop you from scrambling away. They’re dark, burning like two pieces of coal as he looks at you, kneeling with his hands in his lap, palms facing the ceiling. 

Hoseok says something. The ringing in your ears has just started to die down and you shake your head, unsure of what he means and not confident in your ability to speak. 

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck just happened to me?”

“This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” 

He lifts his hands and you flinch. The look on his face is pure heartbreak, shrouded in golden light. “Please,” he murmurs. “Let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

It’s quiet, save for the sound of the humming air conditioner. 

Trust your gut, your sister had said. 

So you do because he’s offered to help you thus far. You nod, giving him access to you. He sags in relief, shuffling forward tentatively as he takes your face in his hands. His palms are impossibly warm. Your eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to look at him this close, this boy of light and something, as he cradles your face. 

Warmth pools in your face, saturating down to your neck and chest. The ache in your lungs eases, and the lump in your throat continues to recede. You don’t want to ask what he’s doing. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel the terror of moments ago ever again, and with the way Hoseok is touching you, so close that his breath fans your brow, and you can smell him like rain and lavender, you want to embrace it. 

There’s no thought process to the way you lean up into him. Your eyes are closed, your breath shaking as you seek him. Hoseok makes a surprised noise, but it vanishes as you press your lips against his.

Relief sweeps through you. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before, every drop of terror fading away, momentarily forgotten. Every ache vanishes. It’s just Hoseok and the way he burns brighter than the sun, and the way it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

After a brief moment of hesitation, he kisses you back. It’s sweet and soft-lipped, his fingers pressing into the side of your face gently as he pulls you to him. You follow his pull, both physically and something like a tether, getting up on your knees to get closer. 

Hoseok breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. You open your eyes, half-lidded and feeling dizzy from just the gentle press of lips. His eyes are dark, but you see the light flecks of brown in them, like an entire world of sun and stars exist in their depths. 

“Make it go away,” you whisper.

You don’t specify. The pain, the nightmares, the fear, the weird town, the worry about your sister. You want it all to stop and this person you barely know - you feel as though he can take it away. Or mute it. 

He nods, eyes closing as he kisses you properly. You forget what you were worried about, and it’s all you can do not to fall headfirst into Hoseok. His mouth is warm and wet, tongue soft but greedy as he pries your mouth open, drinking you in. 

Hoseok’s lips tingle against yours, sending a shiver skating down your spine. You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in the silky strands there. He hums appreciatively when your nails slow-scratch at the base of his scalp. 

Carefully, Hoseok shuffles you into his lap. Your knees dip on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist. His hands find the hem of your sleep shirt and pull upward. You break the kiss, a string of spit connecting your flushed mouths before the garment breaks it.

The room is cold, air hitting your bare chest and hardening your nipples immediately. You whine but Hoseok is fast, pressing your chest to his as he attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking at the tender flesh sharply. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, letting your head drop backward heavily. Your eyes are shut and the world feels like it’s spinning. He has one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back, pressing you to him to keep you warm and to rock your hips gently into his. “Feels good.”

He hums in response, sucking wet stains onto your flesh as he moves toward your chest. You push your tits out to meet his searching mouth, gasping lightly when the rough drag of his tongue swipes across your nipple. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as Hoseok sucks your peak greedily. You’re grinding into his lap on your own now, panties clinging to your hot, sticky folds as you seek friction. He’s hard beneath you and you want to feel him. 

Letting you rut in his lap, Hoseok drags delicate fingers over the curve of your ass and thigh, and his nails leave goosebumps in their wake. The feeling between your legs and at the base of your spine is heady as he lets go of one nipple with a sharp pop, tongue tracing a sloppy line to the other. 

Hoseok’s teeth tease the tight bud and you whine. “Oh?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Gonna be a baby about it?”

You shake your head, but your lip juts out as you look at him, dazed. “Want more.”

“Tell me.”

Dropping one hand from his neck, you take the hand resting on your thigh, guiding it between your legs. Hoseok presses the pads of his fingers to your underwear and you let out a keen. It’s not nearly enough, but the pressure sends another wave of arousal flooding through you. 

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging his fingers back and forth over the damp cloth. “Soaked from just that, huh?” You nod and he bites your collarbone. Fuck, he’s going to kill you, sending another tremble down your frame. He hooks a finger in your underwear, sliding against your glossy folds experimentally and he curses, “Fuck. Pussy is already messy and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please.”

“What do you want? I already asked.”

“More.” Hoseok presses your clit, letting you drip onto his fingers, but he doesn’t move them. You grit your teeth. “Want your fingers,” you ask through clenched teeth. “Fuck me with them, anything. Please.” 

He grins, face wicked before he kisses your nose. “See, you just had to tell me.” 

You’re tense as he pulls your underwear to the side, shoving the fabric against your thigh. Cool air hits your cunt. You can’t recall ever wanting someone like this, vibrating uncontrollably as he traces your slit with his fingers, lazily circling your clit.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you drop your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. He lets you sag against him as he plays with your pussy, fingers barely dipping to tease your hole and gather juices before coming back to trace your clit, applying delicious pressure. 

It feels so good. It’s mind-numbing, letting him do what he wants. Hoseok pants in your ear, breathing stilted between chaste kisses against the side of your head. 

Painfully slow, Hoseok inserts a single finger into your wet heat. The sound you let out is high-pitched and loud. It’s not nearly enough, but you lose all sense of asking for more as his finger slides in deep, pressing against your front wall to massage that delicate spot inside of you.

“Oh shit,” you stutter, unable to help it. 

He laughs, voice deep when he asks, “Yeah? That the spot?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He slow-drags his finger in and out of your pussy, fucking you slowly. He curses, teasing you only for a moment before he gifts you another. The stretch is so much better, and you melt. He thrusts leisurely, not hard and fast but deep. Your walls swallow his fingers, gripping them and begging him not to stop as a tight coil winds in your stomach as he presses hard against your g-spot.

It’s messy, the wet drag of his fingers in your cunt. You feel the slow drip of arousal every time he pulls back, soaking his hand. It drops down your thighs as he picks up the pace. You lift your hips a little, adding a bounce to his motions. 

“Oh? You wanna do it?” He stops moving his hand and you let out a desperate sound. He laughs. “No, go ahead. If you’re so eager, do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Seeking balance by holding his shoulders, you grip him tight, face tucked in his neck as you maneuver yourself, using your knees to lightly fuck yourself on his fingers. It feels so good, and you adjust the angle until you feel him hit that spot again, making you see stars. 

It’s electric, this feeling rippling in your bloodstream. It feels different with Hoseok and you can’t place why, but your orgasm is building so sharply in your stomach that you nearly stop thrusting, overwhelmed by the sensation. 

The pressure in your stomach winds and winds and winds until it snaps, every muscle in your thighs and ass squeezing tight, your hands turning to an iron grip, breath stuck in your lungs as you let out a strangled sound, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers as you come. 

Hoseok is whispering something in your ear, but you can’t hear him over the thundering heartbeat of your pulse, shaking as you come down from your high. When you do, you’re vaguely aware that he’s pulled his fingers out, but he’s massaging the tight ring of muscles, making you shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Wanna see you stretch yourself on my cock like that.”

“Wanna,” you mumbled. 

Your limbs are heavy and lazy as you shuffle, uncoordinated. Hoseok laughs, finding you endearing as you scowl and shift off his lap. His touch is featherlight as he pulls your panties off. You need him, completely naked and shivering as your eyes drop from the smooth, carved planes of his chest and abs to the heavy imprint of his cock in his sweats.

And the wet stain mess you’ve made. 

Flushed, you watch as he looks up at you, smirking. “Go on.” 

Scooting toward him with eager hands, you rest with your feet tucked under you. Dipping your touch below his waistband, you grasp him firmly, cock heavy in your hand. He sighs, head tilting back a little while you slide your grip along his shaft.

Brushing your thumb over his tip to collect hot, sticky precum, you spread it, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, testing the waters. His hips twitch and his mouth parts, gold light of the lamp turning him into Giovanni’s Apollo. He is ethereal, a burning sun and you suddenly understand why Icarus flew to his demise.

Maybe you will too. 

With your other hand, you push Hoseok’s sweats down. Though you could feel the size and swollen weight of him in your hand, it’s still a marvel when you see his thick length, dark tip oozing precum. 

A hiss escapes his teeth when you give him a firm squeeze. He lets you pump him lazily, and your mouth catches the underside of his jaw, teething and sucking sharp marks into his skin. He tastes like something electric and a little bit of sweat, your tongue buzzing. 

“Hmm,” he hums, fingers gripping the back of your neck to pull your mouth back up to his. It’s more spit and him gasping into your mouth more than anything. “You know how stunning you are?”

You feel heat creep up in your cheeks. Hoseok shuffles away from you and you let go of your grip on him, watching his dick slap against his stomach, smearing precum. He sits near the headboard, leaning against the wallpaper and staring at you with hungry eyes. 

“You’re going to make me shy,” you say softly, though you still crawl toward him. You can feel the slick slide of your inner thighs. He pumps his cock lazily, giving you a look that says he doesn’t believe you. “You’re pretty.”

“Think so?”

You nod, a little light-headed and uneven. You tilt toward the side and he catches you, hands sticky from your mixed arousal. Bending down, you capture his lips. Hoseok runs the crown of his cock through your folds and you moan, lips parting. He drinks in your sounds, licking them from the roof of your mouth. 

For a moment, it’s just the teasing and sloppy kissing, pausing to pant into each other's mouths, slick from sweat. He presses the blunt head of his dick into your hole, dipping only a little before retreating and sliding back up to tease your clit.

“Hoseok,” you growl, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the iron tang blooming in your mouth. He hisses out a laugh and does it again. This time, you lower your pussy, trying to catch him on an angle to sink down on him. “Stoooop.”

“Whiny baby,” he teases again. “Cock-hungry, huh?”

“Wanna be full.”

“Mmm.”

Hoseok repeats the motion, but this time lets you sink slowly on the length of him. The stretch stings, hurt-laced pleasure as you suck in a sharp breath and hold it. It feels like your lungs might burst, shaking as you slide down until your ass rests on his damp thighs and you feel the tip of his cock deep in your gut. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, leaning forward, palms pressed to his shoulders. They slide a little, his skin warm and sweaty. You dig your nails in for purchase and he sucks in a sharp breath, but lets you claw your way back to sanity from the feeling. “Deep.”

His hands find purchase on your ass, digging in and massaging. “Come on, then. You were so eager for my fingers.” 

You lift your hips a little, the slide delicious against your warm walls, and drop down with a wet smack. You both moan at that and you grin, putting the weight into Hoseok’s shoulders as you lift your hips again, hypnotized by the wet schlick of your cunt sliding on his length. 

Everything fades away again. Your thighs burn as you increase your movements, chasing the buzz that has settled deep in your stomach. Hoseok lets you use him, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt drips into his lap. 

His nails bite into the meat of your ass and you feel dragged under by the pleasure, the sting of his grip and the pressure of his cock hitting your g-spot sending you further and further.

Your legs grow a little tired, movements sloppy. Hoseok doesn’t mind, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting upward to meet you, hands supporting your weight under your ass. He helps lift you, pulling you up and down until you’re mumbling incoherently. 

It feels mind-numbingly good, and the tension in your stomach grows taught and tight, your second orgasm oncoming. 

“Come on,” Hoseok demands between clenched teeth. “Give it to me.” 

You nod, sliding a hand between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure and speed to get you shaking again. White spots appear in your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him take over and fuck up into you, cunt gushing as you come hard enough around him that you fall forward. 

Hoseok lets you lay on his chest, dead weight as he claws at your ass and thighs, rutting up into you. You’re dimly aware of the soaked mess of your smacking bodies, but your ears are ringing and you feel lighter than you’ve ever felt before. 

You begin to whine in oversensitivity just as Hoseok slams into you as deep as he can, cock twitching and filling you up. You shiver as he grunts, hips bucking with a wet squelch as he gently fucks you through his orgasm.

Both of you lay there in a messy pile as his cock softens inside of you. Cum pools between your pressed bodies, but you don’t care. The room is humid, the light dim with the haze of how far gone you feel. Hoseok traces soft circles on your hips with his fingers. Your mouth is pressed against his jaw, breath kissing his skin. 

You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s nice to forget for a while, to let your body feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the shaking of his thighs against yours, the ache in your muscles. 

Heaviness tugs at you, so close to pulling you under, but Hoseok stirs. You feel drunk, letting him peel the two of you apart until you’re stumbling to the shower. The air makes your tacky, cum-covered skin cold. 

It’s hard to fit both of you in the shower, but you manage it, rotating under the rough spray of the hot water, hands exploring and kneading sore muscles. Your lips are abused and feel bruised, but it doesn’t stop you from seeking the comfort of his mouth, the world turning to static every time you kiss him. 

The motel room smells like sex and sweat when you return to peel clothes back on. Wordlessly, Hoseok takes your hand and leads you to his room on the other side of the wall. It has the same faded wallpaper, the same dusty and stained lampshades, but it looks more lived in.

There are added pieces in the room. A dehumidifier hums in the corner, and there is a hamper full of clothes. Hoseok has added plants near the window, plasticky leaves vibrant green and shiny. Burnt-out incense sits on the plastic folding table he’s erected, books and papers splayed out over its surface. There’s a collection of crystals you can’t identify.

An inviting bed beckons you. You both fall into it, heavy-limbed and sighing. It smells like Hoseok, a mix of rain and lavender. There’s a sense of trepidation as you roll over on the mattress.

Carefully, Hoseok pulls you to him. He presses your back to his chest, one arm going under his head as he yawns and smacks his lips lightly, the other looping over your waist.  

“No one is going to bother you,” he sleep-slurs. “I got rid of them. And they won’t go against me.”

You hum, sleep crawling up and stealing your thoughts. You wonder how he got rid of them and why they’re afraid of him. 

It isn’t until he mumbles a response that you realize you’ve spoken your question out loud. “Because,” he sighs, words slow and soft, as he drifts off to sleep. “I told them you’re mine.” 

Hoseok’s words are lost on you because you’re long asleep. 

-

No dreams disturb you. When you wake up, you feel the weight of the night before on you. It’s cool and empty behind you as you startle, realizing you’d fallen asleep with Hoseok there. You look over your shoulder, blinking away sleep, and see that it’s just you in the dark room.

From the bathroom, you can hear the shower. You relax a little, groaning as you roll to your back and stare up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Your thighs still burn with the soreness from the night before and you bite your bottom lip, trying to conceal your grin. 

Gently, you bring your hand to prod at your neck where it had hurt so much last night. You remember the lock-limb nightmare, the feeling of needing to scream. The thought that you were dying. 

Hoseok had saved you, but it begged the question of how. You remember asking him last night, but you cannot remember what he answered. You’re also surprised to find that you’re not in any pain from whoever or whatever had attacked you. 

Unease turns your stomach but you decide to crawl out of his bed, wandering around his room. A salt lamp casts an orange glow on his makeshift desk. You’re drawn to the mess on top of it, looking at the stacks of books and frowning. They’re not in English - or any language that you know, embossed symbols and shapes on the covers and cracked spines. 

Lifting a heavy, green canvas book, you flip it over in your hands. The edges of the paper are yellow and oxidized with time and there is a gold symbol pressed on the front. Your fingers trace the groove, remembering what Hoseok said the day before about sacred geometry. 

Putting it down, you select another book. It has a pentagram on it. When you flip the book open, the pages are filled with slanted writing, diagrams, and shapes. You recognize sabbat dates and stop when you get to a picture of interlocking shapes. You trace the symbol absently, wondering what it means. 

Why does he have books like this? 

A current of electricity slides up the finger that’s tracing the symbol. You squeak in surprise and drop it, cringing at the loud clatter that it makes against the table. The shower flips off and you look at the shut door. Hoseok moves around before opening the door, sticking his head out. He’s dripping in water, hair slicked back, golden skin glistening. 

Despite the night before, you avert your eyes, shy. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, instead asking. “You okay?” He glances down at the books. “Good luck reading those.” 

“Yeah,” you answer absently.

He grins. “Be out in a second.”

When Hoseok shuts the door, you feel unsettled. Rubbing your arms to fend off a sudden chill, you continue looking through the things on his table. There’s a small glass case with the exoskeleton of a frog. You cringe, thinking about Hoseok’s pet frog awaiting death in his pitcher plants.

Hoseok’s phone starts vibrating on the desk, making you gasp. Your hand goes to your chest, feeling the way your heart pounds violently against your rib cage. Looking at the screen, you see that someone named Yoongi is calling him. 

You hesitate, cocking your head. The name rings familiar, and you watch as the call goes to voicemail. The screen fades to black but you keep staring at it. Not for the first time on your trip, you get the sense that you’re missing something, that there is something right there. 

A text from Yoongi comes in, lighting up the screen. 

Jung, you better not be fucking around with your prey again. We need to prepare. 

It doesn’t sit well with you. When the screen goes dark, you tap it, bringing up the preview. What the hell does Yoongi mean fucking around with your prey? And what are they preparing for? You swear you remember the name Yoongi, retracing your thoughts. 

You feel the blood drain from your face. You do know that name. 

“Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you had asked him. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

Slowly, you stiffen, remembering Hoseok’s words after breakfast. It had seemed silly then, that Hoseok was talking about a cat. But it’s not the only place you’ve seen Yoongi’s name. 

Trust your gut, your sister always said. 

You look at the bathroom door once before turning on your heel and creep from the room. You pull the front door open slowly, wincing and holding your breath as the outside world makes noise. Slipping through, you’re careful not to let the door click loudly before running to your room. 

With the same care, you shut your door, flipping the bolt lock and sliding the chain in the door. The room feels like it’s spinning, your tunnel vision making you dizzy as you sweep your gaze back and forth, looking for the piles of your sister's research. It’s sitting on the floor, shoved off the bed where you let him fuck you last night. 

The urge to vomit flips your stomach as you dive for the papers, riffling through them and scanning, feverish and sweaty. You find the entry you want, finger pressing to the page as you read it multiple times, fear making the words tangle.

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe to see him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter. 

Yoongi. 

A sick feeling coils in your stomach as your hands tremble, eyes scanning the list of names your sister scribbled out as old families in Kill Devil. There’s another one you remember, the one that Yoongi used in his text to Hoseok. 

Booth. 

Park. 

Warren. 

Kim. 

Jung. 

Jeon.

Min.

A shaking hand presses to your mouth. Jung. “Fuck,” you squeak, looking at the wall separating you from Hoseok’s room.

It occurs to you that all this time, you thought the citizens were looking at Hoseok with contempt. How easily hatred can be confused for fear. Hoseok, who had shown up every time you were having a night terror. Who seemingly knew all the right things to do to ease you.

Hoseok, who had flashes of darkness that terrified you. Whose expression could go blank as he thought about something, but flip on a dime to a bright, sunny boy. Hoseok, whose presence always gave you a weird tingle, triggering some sort of instinct you couldn’t place. 

Something happens then. With absolute certainty and a razor-sharp resolve that you’ve never experienced, you know your sister is dead. Perhaps you’ve always known. The sudden burning of your locket that night two months ago, the way that it looks like she ceased to exist. The eerie feeling dogging you, nipping at your heels. 

Hanna is dead. The pain is only sharp for a second, a slice of agony as you bend over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you let out a silent scream. The grief is powerful but abrupt as you hear Hoseok call your name on the other side of the wall. 

You stand. Because now you can’t mourn. Now, you must leave as quickly as possible. Because you hadn’t been trusting your gut, ignoring that weird little sense of something wrong. 

Now isn’t the time to scream over what you know. Now you must get away from-

“Was it the books or the phone call?” 

You whirl around. Hoseok is leaning against the wall by the door. The bolt is still flipped and the chain is still in place. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at him. He looks at the papers on the floor and back to you, smirk razor-sharp. Of course, he could get into the room without opening the lock. 

All of the features you thought were beautiful are suddenly terrifying. “It took you way too long to puzzle it together, but I guess you’re not nearly as smart as Hanna.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, throat constricted. “You were so easy to convince though, so I guess that’s something.”

“I don’t…” your voice is raspy, shaking. 

“When you kept calling the city officials, I knew it was only time before you showed up here. I’ve been living in this fucking shit hole waiting.” He tsks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you forever.”

“The citizens?”

“Stay out of my way and stay out of the Wood. They’re the frogs I let live, so long as I find other ones.”

“Why?” you ask, shaking your head. It’s the only question you can think of. It’s the only question that matters: whywhywhywhy. “Why help me?”

“Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey.” 

It dawns on you that he had said as much at breakfast while he was tracing symbols on the table. He had been talking about his frogs, but he had been talking about you too. How many signs had you missed because he fucking smiled at you? Something dangerous lurking behind light flirting. 

He points to himself. “Pitcher plant.” He points at you with a grin. “Frog. Ribbit.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl, fear replaced by a hatred that burns so hot the edges of your vision flash red. But it isn’t him you’re mad at. It’s you. For being so easily deceived. For being so casually influenced in a matter of days. “Fuck you, and your fucking town.” 

“I did fuck you. You were special, though. I hope that makes you feel better. Didn’t fuck your sister. You’re cute, and I had time to spare.” 

“All of this for what? To get off on the chase? The manipulation?”

He scoffs. “I already told you what this place is. It isn’t my fault you didn’t put it together. I almost hand-fed it to you. The Wood gives us power, and the Wood needs sacrifices.” Hoseok pushes himself off of the wall, his smile like the first light of the morning sun. “I’m taking you to the Wood.”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Set Your Heart Ablaze

Mitsuri Kanroji x She/Her Reader

A/N: This draft is from February of 2022 so it’s over a year old. I wasn’t happy with it at all at the time, but I decided to look over it again recently and tweaked some things and it wasn’t as bad as I thought at the time. I think the moral of this is to step away from your writing for awhile if you think it’s not coming out the way that you want and revisit it with fresh eyes. Whenever that may be. Thanks for reading and I hope you like it! Word Count: 7,334

(Y/n) ran through the forest, tears streaming down her face and her blade drawn. She roared, screaming at the pink haired demon as he ran away from the sunrise.

“Coward!”

(Y/n) could hear Tanjirou’s cries from the forest’s entrance as the demon flung the boy’s sword into the bushes and continued to leap away. The anguish in (Y/n)’s heart had her seeing red as she unleashed technique after technique at the demon, trying to close the ever-growing gap. Her lungs burned and her broken ribs stabbed into her like shattered glass, yet she continued her pursuit.

“Face me, you monster! It is plenty dark enough for you under these dense trees! Fucking fight me!” (Y/n) raged.

Akaza clicked his tongue, not even sparring the girl a glance as he rocketed off. Maybe he would have liked to see if the Flame Hashira’s Tsuguko was worthy of the position, but he had no desire to kill any women and today was no different.

“Damn you!” (Y/n) tried to boost her speed, but with all the injuries she had sustained that night, something in her leg popped and she tumbled head over heels into the ground. Determined, she got back to her feet as soon as she could and scanned the trees.

“No!” (Y/n) screamed. The demon was gone. She punched the nearest tree until her knuckles bled. “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you…” (Y/n) slid back to the ground as sobs wracked through her body.

She had failed.

Her Master was dying and she had let his killer escape. What an utterly useless Tsuguko! She didn’t deserve the title. All that training and she couldn’t even scratch that demon! Disgraceful!

(Y/n) didn’t allow herself to sit there for long. She didn’t deserve it, but she needed to see her Master and apologize for being so weak. She needed to tell him she was going to work harder! She would avenge him one day even if it killed her.

(Y/n) grit her teeth and ran out of the forest, avoiding the sorrowful eyes of the other slayers as she moved to be near her Master.

“(Y/n), there you are.” Kyoujirou’s eyes softened with a slightly glazed over look, “come, sit.”

“I— I’m sorry Master, he got away.” (Y/n) hiccuped, collapsing hard on her knees, she bowed as low to the ground as she could, gravel imbedding itself into her forehead with how hard she pressed. “I failed you, but I swear I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do!” (Y/n)’s breathing hitched when a gentle weight appeared on her shoulder.

“Hold your head up high, (Y/n).” Kyoujirou commanded, though his voice had lost its normally booming quality, the underlying power somehow remained. (Y/n) sat up and did as her Master commanded, though tears still flowed unbidden from her eyes.

“Look at how far you’ve come already and with still so much room to grow. My only regret as your teacher is that I won’t be there to help you refine those skills. Which is why there is something I want you to do for me.”

“Anything, Master! You need only say it!” (Y/n) exclaimed.

“Continue your Tsuguko training under the Love Hashira, Kanroji Mitsuri. You may have heard she used to be my student before climbing the ranks herself. She can teach you all that I couldn’t.”

“I… I’ll ask her. I promise, I’ll work hard! I won’t let you down!” (Y/n) didn’t want to burden another Hashira after failing one so fatally, but this was Rengoku’s last mission for her and she would carry it out for him.

Rengoku chuckled weakly, a warm smile upon his face. These young slayers were sure to go far. They did extraordinary work last night, fighting with all the fire and might they possessed to their very bones. His bleary eyes seemed to be drawn to something over (Y/n)’s shoulder, his smile grew and with one last peaceful exhale, he was gone.

***

(Y/n) put it off for as long as she could, but now that Shinobu had given her a clean bill of health, she could hide no more. Now there she stood in front of the Love Hashira’s home.

With her lips pursed tightly and a light coating of sweat dewing her face and hands, she finally forced herself to knock upon the door. The thudding of her fist against the wood sped her heart with each hit. Every part of her body was screaming at her to turn tail and run before she could be seen, but with her Master’s final wishes for her in mind, she stood rigidly in place.

Her panic was steadily growing inside of her as the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching from inside. She quickly dried her hands on her pants and though she knew someone was coming to open the door, she still jumped when it slid open and bowed with such force she almost bent completely in half.

“G-good morning!” She fumbled over her words, voice pitching as if it hadn’t expected to be called upon. “I’m here to speak with Kanroji Mitsuri-sama of important matters! Is she perhaps available today?”

(Y/n) dared not look up. She could feel how her face burned and felt the tell tale signs of those annoying tears of embarrassment and nervousness picking at her eyes. When whoever answered the door turned to guide her or send her away, then she would have an opening to sneak a sleeve over her eyes, but not a moment before.

“Ah, yes, I’m available right now. You can come in.”

(Y/n) blinked, her eyes traveled to the stocking feet standing in the doorway. Unbidden, her gaze moved slowly upward until concerned pastel green eyes connected with hers.

Then she snapped.

“Apologies, Kanroji-sama!” (Y/n) threw herself completely against the ground, the sound of her forehead hitting the gravel drowning out the surprised squeak that left Mitsuri’s lips.

“I did not realize—! Please forgive my rudeness!”

“I really don’t think you were being rude at all?” Mitsuri tilted her head to the left thoughtfully. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“Not at all! But if you think it would be a fitting punishment—“

“No!” Mitsuri frantically waved her hands down at the still face planted slayer, “No! That’s really not necessary! Please, raise your head and come inside!”

“Thank you, Kanroji-sama. You are far kinder than I deserve.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, a bit clumsily, and rubbed her eyes as if she had gotten dirt in them before finally meeting Mitsuri’s eye again.

“I, I don’t know about that, but let’s get you inside and have a nice cup of tea. You seem stressed.”

Oh, she didn’t even know the half of it.

(Y/n) thanked her profusely and followed her inside.

Immediately, an array of pleasant aromas met her nose when she took off her footwear and entered the Love Hashira’s home. For such a large building, it somehow still felt cozy.

Mitsuri led her to a room with an open door leading out to an orchard. In the middle of the room there was a large, low laying table piled with snacks and a cute tea pot.

“Here, take a seat and I’ll be right back with a cup for you.”

Before (Y/n) could dissuade her, Mitsuri jogged out of the room and returned a short time later with another cup and dish in hand. She set the items in front of where (Y/n) knelt and poured her a cup of tea before kneeling opposite of her across the table. She poured a cup for herself, took a sip, and hummed happily.

“Help yourself. We can talk after you calm down a bit, okay?”

(Y/n) opened her mouth to disagree, but shut it quickly when Mitsuri titled her head and gestured to the food. She ducked her head down and sipped her tea, mulling over the best way to tell the Love Hashira her intentions for the hundredth time that day.

The meal wasn’t completely silent. Mitsuri asked (Y/n) where she grew up, what food she liked best, light questions that were easily answered and slowly but surely put (Y/n) at ease when Mitsuri would share her own answers in turn.

(Y/n) helped Mitsuri clean up and they returned to the room together. Mitsuri took her seat across from (Y/n) and gave her a small smile.

“Feeling a little better?”

(Y/n) nodded, shyly looking down at her lap.

“I’m glad. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

(Y/n) took a deep breath, “My name is (L/n) (Y/n), I was the late Flame Hashira’s Tsuguko.”

“I know.”

(Y/n) looked up from her lap to see the sad smile and watery shine in Mitsuri’s eyes.

“Rengoku-san, talked about your progress with me on occasion.” She explained. “He really enjoyed working with you.”

Oh gods, keep it together (Y/n). No more crying, we promised we were done crying!

“I’m honored. He was, I really, really liked training under him.” She swallowed thickly.

“He was a very good teacher, wasn’t he?” Mitsuri noticed how (Y/n) shook like a cold kitten in the rain and scooted around the table to offer some comfort, pulling (Y/n)’s head into her shoulder.

“Uh huh,” (Y/n)’s throat felt so tight it held a deep burn, like there was a hot, heavy ball tangled in her vocal chords. The way Mitsuri held her and talked to her about the fallen Flame Hashira, she could tell she was hurting just as much. Two students grieving over the loss of their beloved teacher, friend, and older brother figure.

They took a few minutes to collect themselves and (Y/n) forced herself to back out of Mitsuri’s embrace to put some space between them and face her fully.

“Rengoku-sama’s last order for me was to ask you to train me in his stead.” She bowed on her forearms and knees once more, continuing on before Mitsuri could fully process the weight of her words.

“I know that I am the last person that anyone would want after I failed to protect him. I only ask because it was my Master’s last wish of me. I do not expect you to accept so please don’t feel obligated in any way, Kanroji-sama.”

A hand came to rest on (Y/n)’s back that exuded a warmth so radiant that she couldn’t help but compare it to the heavy warmth of her Master’s hand when he used to praise her for a job well done. Tentatively, she rose her head to meet Mitsuri’s eye, finding fresh tears had sprung from the Love Hashira’s eyes.

Mitsuri rubbed (Y/n)’s back, urging her to sit up so she could take both of her battle-worn hands into her own and gave her a watery smile.

“(L/n)-san, I will take you on as my Tsuguko on one condition.”

“Yes?” She prompted timidly.

“You mustn’t keep blaming yourself for Rengoku-san’s death. It hurts my heart to hear you talk down on yourself for something that was not your fault.”

“But I—“

“Not. Your. Fault.” Mitsuri spoke with great sincerity, hitting her thighs with their connected hands to emphasize each word. “Rengoku-san would be very sad to know you feel this way. Do not make him have to worry about you in the afterlife.”

(Y/n) bowed her head. Mitsuri squeezed her hands.

“You say it now, it wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t… my fault.”

“Again. Try to sound like you believe it because you should.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“The fault lies with the demon who took his life, not me. Say it.”

“The fault lies with the demon who took his life, not me.” (Y/n) finished shakily.

Mitsuri pulled her back into her arms and rocked her side to side.

“That’s a good start. Rengoku-san chose to entrust you to me. So I will do my best to teach you everything I know in his stead. We will both work hard and make him proud, won’t we?”

“Yes!” (Y/n) sobbed into Mitsuri’s shoulder, clinging tighter.

***

(Y/n) awoke at the crack of dawn in the guest room Mitsuri had so kindly provided her with and went out the stretch and go through her morning training regimen before Mitsuri would make her appearance. She felt the need to prove herself to her Master’s old pupil so she needed to be on the top of her game to impress. She began pushing herself harder. Though she had been healed, the Insect Hashira would surely discourage going so hard so soon after being discharged.

“I’m going to get stronger, Master. I will kill that demon!”

Meanwhile, Mitsuri hadn’t slept at all. She had been working frantically all night wracking her brain for a lesson plan. She was hardly a teacher unless her western cooking lessons with Shinobu counted, but even then Shinobu had a hard time understanding her sometimes. It was so embarrassing! Worst yet, though her Love Breathing had been created through what she learned from Flame Breathing, she didn’t quite remember the techniques without the twists she gave them.

“I’m so sorry, Rengoku-san!” Mitsuri wiped the sweat from her forehead as she scribbled out another idea. “I don’t think I know how to teach her at all!”

Regardless, she had to get out there sooner or later. (Y/n) was waiting for her. She wouldn’t make a good impression if she was late. What if (Y/n) changed her mind and didn’t want Mitsuri to teach her? Mitsuri couldn’t think of a more devastating blow to her confidence as a Hashira.

She sucked it up and headed outside. She would just have to be candid with (Y/n) about her inexperience with teaching and her foggy memory. Surely (Y/n)’s training was fresh in her mind. Perhaps if they discussed it, it would jog her memory.

Mitsuri exited her home and froze mid step when she found (Y/n) laying face down in the grass.

“(L/n)-san?!” She quickly regained use of her legs and hopped off of the engawa to kneel at her side and pull (Y/n) to lay on her back. “What happened? You shouldn’t push yourself so hard! Shinobu-chan only discharged you a day ago. Did you hurt yourself?” She fretted.

“I’m okay. I guess my ankle still isn’t agreeing with me.” (Y/n) made a pained grunt when Mitsuri gently squeezed her injured ankle.

“That doesn’t feel right. Urara!” She called out to the sky.

Moments later a Kasugai crow with a little clover crown made an uneasy descent, waiting for Mitsuri’s order.

“Could you ask Shinobu-chan to have someone come over to check (L/n)-san’s ankle? Thank you!”

The bird flew off in a flurry of feathers and Mitsuri positioned her arms beneath (Y/n)’s back and knees, giggling at the surprised face (Y/n) made when she was suddenly hoisted off of the ground.

“Let’s get that foot elevated for the time being.”

“What about training?” (Y/n) didn’t want to be down and out already. She hadn’t even technically started yet and Mitsuri was carrying her inside. How humiliating!

Mitsuri set her down in the training room she had initially exited from and propped up (Y/n)’s ankle with a rolled up towel.

Within the hour Shinobu herself came to personally scold (Y/n) for her recklessness in the sweetest voice possible and then turned her attention to Mitsuri to dig into her a bit.

“She’s your Tsuguko now, Kanroji-san, don’t let her act so foolishly in the future.” She teased, though her eyes held a seriousness that Mitsuri did not miss.

“Sorry, Shinobu-chan.”

Shinobu fixed (Y/n) up, ordered her a week of non strenuous training and took her leave.

“I’m sorry, Master. I’ve burdened you.” (Y/n) frowned.

“No!” Mitsuri squeaked and waved her hands erratically. Her skin flushed bright pink. To be called someone’s master made it too real! “No, no, you haven’t burdened me at all! In fact, this is kind of a good thing!”

“It is?” (Y/n) cocked her head to the side inquisitively.

“Yeah! Not that you hurt yourself of course, but this will give us some time to talk and figure out where you are in the training. I have to admit, I’m out of practice with the discipline and finer details of Flame Breathing, but maybe you could help remind me?”

“Of course, Master!” (Y/n) nodded, flames blazing in her eyes.

“A-and another thing!” Mitsuri’s blush bloomed a darker shade of red, “Please just call me Kanroji! Master feels too heavy!”

“As you wish, Kanroji-sama!”

Mitsuri laughed at (Y/n)’s eagerness and volume. It reminded her so much of Kyoujirou. He seemed to have an affect on his disciples where his own excitement and booming voice would be mirrored back at him with vigor. Mitsuri only hoped she could be such an impactful teacher.

***

They spent that first week while (Y/n) was laid up going over the training she had endured under Kyoujirou’s guidance. Sometimes, that would prompt an old memory of Mitsuri’s and she would share her own experiences.

Sometimes they would laugh, sometimes they would cry, but their talks always left a sense of comfort and understanding. They had both known Kyoujirou well and being able to share those stories when they were missing the man brought them closer together.

When (Y/n) had re-healed after her tumble, they began increasing the effort on her training. It wasn’t always smooth sailing, but they would eventually work it out together.

“You have to, you know, when you feel a stretch just before it pops you go bwoosh! You know?”

“Um, could you try showing me that, Kanroji-sama?”

“Sure!”

In Mitsuri’s defense, Kyoujirou was also guilty of explaining things poorly from time to time. He often used to tell (Y/n) to just feel it, whatever it was. (Y/n) learned to be a bit of a visual learner if she hadn’t been one already, she had grown more conscious of it over time.

Mitsuri also added her own touches to the regimen, showing (Y/n) the importance of flexibility in combination with one’s strength and internal rhythm. She was almost appalled by (Y/n)’s lack of flexibility, though she would certainly never tell her that. She did however make sure to add flexibility to the daily training regimen that made the usual stretches feel like nothing in comparison to the deep stretches she put (Y/n) through.

She also added dance lessons into their routine to wind down at the end of hard days. It was fun to teach (Y/n) different step combinations and have her cling to her as she tried to keep up with her ever changing footing. She never seemed to quite get the timing right, but Mitsuri found that adorable.

Of course they couldn’t stay home to train all of the time. At the start of their third week together, Mitsuri received a mission to the south and it would be her first time being accompanied by a pupil. Granted, (Y/n) was nearly the same age as her and had been on several missions already, but Mitsuri couldn’t help but worry for her safety.

“Stay close, alright?” She had made (Y/n) promise several times along the way.

Other slayers might have been offended or even angry at such a babying display, but (Y/n)’s heart fluttered in her chest knowing that Mitsuri cared so much about her wellbeing.

Fortunately, there was no need to worry. They killed the troubling demons that had causing the disturbances without a hitch.

“Did you see that, Kanroji-sama?” (Y/n) asked, eyes alight with an excitement that made Mitsuri’s heart race, “I used that step just like you showed me! The stretch wasn’t even that bad!”

“I saw! You did so well! Let’s go to this twenty-four hour noodle shop I know to celebrate, okay?”

“Okay!”

They cleaned out that udon stand in record time.

***

Weeks became months and soon half of a year had passed them by.

Presently, they were laying out under the shade of a tree after collecting honey all day. Mitsuri watched as (Y/n) continuously flexed her fist, watching her rank bubble up and fade several times. Kinoe.

As of last night, (Y/n) had slayed her forty-ninth demon. One more, and she would be considered for a position as a Hashira.

Mitsuri tapped on (Y/n)’s hand, startling her, “What are you thinking about?”

“I guess I’m just thinking about how close I am to being considered for a Hashira position. It’s kind of overwhelming.”

“It is kind of scary at first. I actually got lost on my first day,” Mitsuri smiled and squeezed (Y/n)’s hand, “I’ll help you get around though, so don’t worry!”

“Thank you, Kanroji-sama.” (Y/n) gave a small smile of her own, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Hm? Without me?” Mitsuri blinked, then realization dawned on her.

When (Y/n) would become a Hashira, she would no longer be Mitsuri’s student. That would cut down the time they spent together drastically! She would live somewhere else in charge of a different sector. No more training together, missions, meals, sleeping a bedroom away, tending to the bees together, dancing together… Mitsuri’s heart hurt.

What was she supposed to do without (Y/n)?

“W-well, it’s not like we won’t see each other again! We can keep in touch and do things together in our free time!” Mitsuri felt anxious. She knew the day would eventually come, but it had snuck up on her somehow. (Y/n) was a superb slayer, it really shouldn’t have surprised her that she was nearly ready for the next rung in the ladder.

“Really?” (Y/n) felt relieved by Mitsuri’s suggestion. She didn’t want to be separated from her any more than Mitsuri did.

“Of course!” Mitsuri nodded vigorously. “We are friends after all.”

“Kanroji-sama!” (Y/n) sniffled and threw her arms around Mitsuri, loathe to let go lest the Hashira see the tears that slid down her cheeks. They were mostly happy tears, but that hardly mattered to (Y/n). Any time her eyes would water without her permission felt a little embarrassing.

Mitsuri wrapped her arms behind (Y/n)’s back in return, holding on a bit tighter than usual knowing that her constant companion over the past six months would be off on her own before long. They both would be.

***

The day was finally upon them and neither Mitsuri nor (Y/n) was nearly as excited as one would expect. They tried to have a normal morning together, the last they would have under the same roof. Despite the enormity of the event happening that day, neither broached the subject. Both preferring to talk about literally anything else. Though they both definitely knew what was on the agenda that afternoon and it was visible in their actions.

(Y/n) had carved Mitsuri a bunch of little wooden statues over their months together and presented them to her in a neatly packed box. Each representing a little memory. Mitsuri went all out on breakfast, a conglomeration of all of (Y/n)’s favorite foods. Instead of sitting across from each other they sat as if joined by the hip. It was when an unexpected guest came by that the girls were forced to face the reality of the day at hand.

“Senjuro-kun? Hello, hello! What brings you by today?” Mitsuri asked, ushering the young boy inside.

“Hello, Senjuro-kun!” (Y/n) greeted from the kitchen doorway while she finished drying the last dish.

“Hello,” Senjuro smiled shyly, adjusting the bundle in his arms. “I’m here to give (Y/n)-san something, actually.”

“Oh, for me?” (Y/n) blinked. She put away the last dish and came out into the hall.

“I think it will be best if we all sit down for this.” Senjuro suggested and Mitsuri lead the way to a private room for whatever transaction was about to occur.

“What is it, Senjuro-kun?” (Y/n) asked once they were all situated.

“I heard you were becoming a Hashira today. Congratulations, (Y/n)-san.”

“Thank you. I will do all I can to live up to the title. I promise.” (Y/n) still felt inadequate for the title of Flame Hashira and she felt that the title would never truly belong to her, but she was determined to honor her late Master’s position.

“I know you will, Aniki always thought you had lots of potential.” Senjuro held the bundle closer to his chest. “That is why, I believe this belongs to you now.”

As soon as he held the white fabric out to (Y/n), the girls gasped softly as the red and orange tatters previously pressed into Senjuro’s chest came into view.

“Senjuro-kun,”

“I know,” he interrupted, “but he would want you to have it. I do to. You are keeping the Flame Hashira line afloat, so you need the cloak to match.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly. She would not deny the boy again. If he wanted her to adorn the near sacred garment in his brother’s stead, then she would do it. Just a little more weight to carry. She would bear it.

She took the cloak gently from Senjuro’s arms and bowed her head.

“Thank you, I will do everything I can to be worthy of this.”

Senjuro nodded, trying to keep it together, but when (Y/n) and Mitsuri descended upon him with hugs and understanding tears in their own eyes, he let his own fall.

***

“Stay close, I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.” Mitsuri assured as they walked through the lengthy estate of the Master, out to the garden many Hashira meetings took place in when the weather was fair.

“Thank you, Kanroji-sama. I’m so nervous.” (Y/n) managed a half smile. The weight and scent of the cloak draping her shoulders was near anxiety inducing, not comforting in the least, but with Mitsuri by her side, she felt a tiny bit at ease.

“You’ll be just fine, I promise.” Mitsuri threaded her arm through (Y/n)’s and rubbed her bicep comfortingly.

Even when they came upon the passage that would lead them out into the garden, they did not part and entered together to find a majority of the Hashira already present.

“Kanroji-san, (L/n)-san, good to see you.” Shinobu smiled.

“Good to see you too, Kochou-sama.” (Y/n) greeted with a bow.

“Kochou-san will be fine please. You are joining our rank after all. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Ah, right, thank you, Kochou-san.”

“Me too!” Mitsuri jumped in, sweating slightly. She should have been the first to tell (Y/n) that, but she hadn’t even thought of it! She had to one-up Shinobu somehow. “Just call me Mitsuri!”

(Y/n)’s face exploded with warmth. To refer to Mitsuri so casually… she would surely combust!

“If that’s, are you sure, uh, Mmitsu, um, maybe, Kanroji…san?”

Shinobu giggled behind one hand, the other reached out to give Mitsuri a handkerchief, the poor girl was blushing bright red and noticeably sweating. (Y/n) was hardly fairing any better.

“You may still refer to me as Uzui-sama, new blood!” Tengen grinned, bringing attention to the fact that they certainly weren’t the only people there.

“Don’t refer to me ever.” Obanai said snippily under his breath, earning an amused scoff from Sanemi. Neither believed the woman would be able to fill the shoes, or the cloak rather, that had been left behind for her. Of course one of them was more upset about how the new Flame Hashira was still joined to the Love Hashira’s hip.

“I’m glad to see another Hashira be born from the ashes in these dire times. I wish you luck in battle, Flame Hashira. I trust you will go far.” Gyomei spoke with great conviction, tears rolling down his chiseled cheeks.

(Y/n) bowed to the man, thanking him with strong gratitude audible in her tone.

If Muichiro had anything to say, he kept it to himself and Giyuu slid in through the back of the garden and stayed in his designated corner barely sparring (Y/n) a glance.

All fell to a knee when the Master was set to appear and the deeply treasured man walked out to greet his children and formerly bestow (Y/n) with her title and assignment area.

This was when Mitsuri felt the most nervous. Kyoujirou’s general assignment area had been in then heart of Tokyo, but that didn’t necessarily mean (Y/n) would get the same. Tokyo would be so nice though. Lots of roads and trains led to Tokyo. They could easily visit from time to time. Please be Tokyo, please be Tokyo!

“Your assignment shall be in Hokkaido. Guard it well, Flame Hashira.” The Master smiled warmly.

“As you wish, Master. I will give my all.” (Y/n) bowed resolutely.

Meanwhile, Mitsuri, who had been leaning so far forward to hear, suddenly fell into the pebbles, earning her a handful of inquisitive stares.

Hokkaido prefecture?! That couldn’t be further away! She’d need several train lines and a boat to get there!

“I’ve heard troubling things about demons trying to traverse the bottom of the ocean to other countries. It may not be as glamorous or densely populated as Tokyo, but it is an important job none the less.”

“Of course, Master. I won’t let you down.”

“You will do great things, (Y/n). Kyoujirou would be proud to see you now. Mitsuri is as well I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Mitsuri sniffled, “so proud.” and heartachingly disappointed.

“Let’s move on to the next agenda then, my children.”

***

“Kanroji-san? Are you waiting for (L/n)-san?” Shinobu asked when she found Mitsuri waiting outside of the garden after dropping of the Master’s medicine with Amane.

“Yeah…” Mitsuri toed her shoe in the dirt. “I was hoping to see her off. I know it’ll take a little time to get details from the Master, but I don’t mind waiting a bit.”

“Hmm, didn’t you take any time to say your goodbyes this morning?”

Mitsuri looked down and worried the sleeve of her haori between her fingers.

“Ahh, I was afraid something like this would happen.” Shinobu tisked wisely.

“What?” Mitsuri’s brow furrowed.

“You grew too attached.” Shinobu replied, a teasing grin growing across her face. “In fact, I dare say you are smitten! And with a student no less, how scandalous, Kanroji-san.”

“We’re only a year or two apart!” Mitsuri blushed and flapped her arms around, “And she isn’t my student anymore so it’s not weird! Is it?!”

“I’m not judging you, but I am worried about you. Hokkaido is rather far away.”

“I know… I don’t know what to do.” Mitsuri sighed sullenly.

“I think you should tell her how you feel. Don’t live with any regrets. That is my advice to you.”

“Thanks Shinobu-chan. I will think about it.”

“See to it that you do. I better get home, good luck.”

Mitsuri wrapped Shinobu in a tight hug and then the Insect Hashira went on her way, leaving Mitsuri feeling more confident about what she had to do.

When (Y/n) emerged from the Master’s estate, her face lit up when she saw Mitsuri waiting for her and she moved quickly to stand beside her.

“Kanroji-sama! Er, Mitsu… erm— Kanroji-san! You waited for me!”

“I wanted to see you off personally. Also… there was something I wanted to tell you.”

“Of course, you can tell me anything.”

The kind expression on (Y/n)’s face made Mitsuri’s heart flutter. She took (Y/n) by the hand and eagerly pulled her along. The Master’s estate was full of natural beauty, a perfect place for a heartfelt confession. She led the newly appointed Flame Hashira into the wisteria blooms that surrounded the property. Silently she thanked the moon and stars for illuminating the petals in a soft glow and the warm contrast of the fireflies navigating between the trees.

“It’s beautiful here.” (Y/n) commented. “It suits you.”

“Really?” Mitsuri squeaked.

Though she was embarrassed, (Y/n) did not attempt to explain away her words. She really did think Mitsuri looked especially beautiful in this scenery and she was of the opinion that no one told Mitsuri that she was beautiful nearly enough so she stood firm.

“Definitely!” She yelled a little too loud, looking up at the sky to avoid meeting Mitsuri’s gaze directly. She stiffened when Mitsuri’s hand curled around her bicep near her elbow.

“Thank you. It suits you too.” Mitsuri bit her lip, “That’s why I wanted to tell you here.”

Mitsuri’s hand slid down to (Y/n)’s own, her other hand moved to clasp (Y/n)’s between hers. She took a couple deep breaths, feeling dizzy from the warmth in her cheeks and chest, then she… didn’t tell her.

She couldn’t tell her. For whatever reason, the words would not come out.

“Yes? What is it, Kanroji-san?” The innocent, patient look (Y/n) wore proved too much for Mitsuri to handle somehow and the poor girl lost her nerve completely.

“I’ll miss having you around, good luck out there.” She looked away, missing the disappointed look that flashed over (Y/n)’s face.

“I’ll miss you too. A lot.” (Y/n) forced a chuckle. “Um, listen, is it alright to write to you from time to time?”

“Yes, that would make me very happy.” Mitsuri’s voice held all of the scenerity of the feelings she had truly wanted to convey. “I’ll write you too, of course. You can tell me all about Hokkaido and all your adventures.”

“I will.”

There was a pregnant pause before a stifled sob escaped (Y/n)’s lips. She cut it off abruptly with her free hand.

“Sorry! I told myself I wouldn’t cry. I’m a Hashira now, damn it.”

“It’s okay to cry, everybody has to some times.” Mitsuri was also failing to fight back tears of her own, her heart was screaming at her to speak her mind, but her tongue felt like lead.

(Y/n) face planted forcefully into Mitsuri’s neck and Mitsuri swiftly wrapped her up in her arms. Their tears soaked each other’s clothes while the words they truly wished to share went unspoken.

***

Mitsuri pushed the latest letter from (Y/n) into her face. Maybe it was silly, but she thought she could smell (Y/n)’s scent lingering upon the parchment. So she always smelled the letter first before reading.

At this point they hadn’t seen each other in fourteen months but they made sure to write each other every other week. Their crows were surely annoyed by the long trips, but being the people pleasers that they were, they hardly complained. Especially when the birds had always enjoyed each other’s company as well.

She wanted to take her time reading, pouring over every word. She pressed the paper to her lips before holding it to her chest.

Things had been going well in Hokkaido as previous letters would suggest. The Master’s worries about demons crossing the sea had dissipated to near nothing with the first month of (Y/n)’s introduction to the prefecture the Flame Hashira had taken to training some of the slayers stationed there to hone their skills into something more fine tuned. Things had been quiet there lately, which made Mitsuri all the more glad. As long as (Y/n) was safe, she was happy. She couldn’t wait to read the new letter.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get very far before Urara hopped onto her desk in a tizzy to alert her of a new mission. She placed the letter with the others in the box of wood carvings (Y/n) had given her for safe keeping until later and grabbed her sword. She would have to put the letter on the back burner for now.

Mitsuri followed after Urara, running even faster when she saw a heavy smoke billowing up to the sky. The village on the outskirts of her patrol area was in flames, green flames.

She helped organize the villagers and their evacuation and looked around for the fire’s source. It seemed to jump from roof to roof despite the dead still air. There was definitely a demon art at play here.

A building collapsed and she heard a desperate cry for help within the wreckage along with a sinister cackle.

Mitsuri pushed through the opposite direction the villagers were running in, telling the lower ranked slayers that had shown up to help with the evacuation efforts while she forged ahead.

The demon was easy enough to find. He was still cackling and hooting as another home came crashing down, the fire curled around him as gentle as running water.

Within the collapsed rubble and wood was a young couple, the wife trying valiantly to free her husband from underneath a heavy beam despite the demon’s lazy, taunting approach. Mitsuri had seen enough.

She unfurled her sword and whipped it at the demon, aiming for his neck, but he blocked her with his arm, unconcerned with the loss of the limb as it quickly regrew.

He turned to face her, no longer as amused as he once was, and with a loud growl he threw his strange green flames in Mitsuri’s direction.

She rolled away from the blast and quickly countered, narrowly missing her target as he hopped backwards. The Demon released an exaggerated sigh.

“Can’t you see I’m busy with those folks there? I’m trying to have a nice, crispy meal and you’re ruining it!”

“You’re awful! As if I would stand aside and let you do such a thing!” Mitsuri whipped her sword hard enough to crack the ground where the demon’s feet had been mere seconds before.

Mitsuri had no time to behead the demon before the fire would encircle the trapped couple. She would have to subdue him for a time and then quickly get them out of there before returning to finish the job.

She had her opportunity when their battle led them between two homes with hardly any space between them. The demon ran to slip between them and out of Mitsuri’s line of sight, but the Hashira struck at a weakened support beam and both houses came tumbling down. Right on the demon’s head.

“That should keep you busy for awhile!” Mitsuri yelled as she ran. “See how much you like it!”

She traveled across the burning rubble of the house and grabbed the beam that pressed down on the man’s legs. With her strength, the beam rose easily and the woman was able to slip her husband out from under the new gap.

“Go! Go! Before the fire cuts the exit!” Mitsuri warned.

“Thank you!” The man coughed, stumbling through the wreckage with smoke stung eyes and his wife supporting his weight as they limped out together.

With a mighty grunt, Mitsuri threw the beam to the ground. Just as she turned to leave, a bright green inferno caught her eye, the demon had escaped the rubble and she was in trouble!

“I’ll roast you on a spit you damn nuisance!”

Mitsuri fumbled with her blade on her hip as the hot flames burst towards her, she wasn’t going to draw it in time! Her eyes pinched shut on reflex.

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!”

The sour heat of the green flames dissipated and a new, purer heat took its place.

“Are you okay, Kanroji-san?”

Mitsuri’s eyes shot open and her mouth fell open in both disbelief and elation. Before her stood (Y/n), looking bright and powerful. She surely grew into her position in her time away.

“What! What are you doing here, (Y/n)-chan?!”

(Y/n) took no offense because Mitsuri was clearly excited to see her. She laughed, redirecting her attention to the demon who’s eyes darted between the two Hashira with obvious discomfort.

“Didn’t you receive my letter?”

“I didn’t have time to read it!”

“Ah, well, I’m getting reassigned! I was just finishing up with Oyakata-sama before I was redirected here, and not a moment too soon!”

Mitsuri withdrew her blade, ready to fight, but still she wanted to talk.

“Reassigned? I thought you were doing well in Hokkaido?”

“Well enough that the Master doesn’t think a Hashira’s presence is needed there all of the time. The lower ranks can handle themselves now. I’m going back to Tokyo!”

“Are you two really catching up it front of me?” The demon squealed unpleasantly. Though he did not like his odds, his pride still got the better of him.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t. Your demon art is destructive, but you, yourself aren’t very strong. Just opportunistic. I haven’t seen Kanroji-san in over a year and I have a lot I’d like to tell her.” (Y/n) answered bluntly, making the demon more irate.

“The honor is all yours.” (Y/n) told Mitsuri with a smile as the demon charged senselessly towards them.

Mitsuri beamed at her in return and snapped her blade outward, slicing clean through the foolish demon’s neck. The excess momentum sent the head sailing passed the two Hashira and out of sight. The body began to crumble and the green flames sputtered out when it suddenly began to rain.

“So much destruction.” (Y/n) shook her head in disbelief. “We’re lucky the demon seemed so ‘young’ and inexperienced. Given any time to grow, he would have been a much greater threat— hey!” (Y/n) laughed when Mitsuri suddenly catapulted into her arms.

“I missed you so much!” Mitsuri wailed.

“I missed you too!” (Y/n) yelled twice as loud, happy tears rolling down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.

They spun around over the smoldering lumber as the cool rain poured over them. The first few spins turned into a dance and they soon became drenched, but still without a care in the world. They slowed and then came to a stop, both laughing breathlessly, their foreheads pressed together.

Without much thought, (Y/n) kissed Mitsuri’s forehead, only realizing her error when Mitsuri made a sound between a choked gasp and a delighted squee.

“Wah! I’m sorry!” (Y/n) groaned, pulling away to hide her face in her hands. “Ah! I had all this time to think of a proper confession and I already blew it! What is wrong with me?!”

Mitsuri pulled (Y/n)’s hands away from her face and they both looked at each other with matching surprised intensity. Neither dared even to blink.

Mitsuri’s mouth opened and closed several times before she shook her head and pulled (Y/n)’s hands behind her waist. The motion pulled the Flame Hashira nearly flush against Mitsuri and her hands were released for only a moment before Mitsuri’s arms encircled her neck and their lips met in a bruising kiss.

“I love you,” Mitsuri murmured shyly despite taking such a confident action. “I wanted to tell you that before you left, but I lost my nerve and I regretted not telling you every day since.”

“You too?” (Y/n) marveled. “I wanted to tell you back then too!”

“You really did?”

“Yeah!”

(Y/n) swept Mitsuri off of her feet and hugged her tight. Mitsuri was so ecstatic at the prospect of being carried she got all wiggly like an excited puppy. (Y/n) stumbled but held Mitsuri all the same and they exited the smoldering wreckage together.

The other slayers and freshly arrived Kakushi gave them strange looks, but followed their orders all the same. They worked to build temporary shelters for the small village and fix up the homes that were salvageable.

The rain stopped when the sun crept up upon the horizon. (Y/n) and Mitsuri helped put the finishing touches on the last shelter and left the rest in the hands of the locals. As they walked together, Mitsuri pulled on (Y/n)’s arm.

“You know, I don’t have to leave right away…” (Y/n) tested, “If you think it’s okay, I could head back with you, only if you want to.”

“Of course I want you to head back with me! I haven’t even touched your old room so it’s ready for you! But you could just stay in my room with me. We still have a lot to talk about after all!” Mitsuri stuttered and blushed, cupping her burning cheek with her free hand.

“You’re right! That would be more convenient, wouldn’t it?” (Y/n) agreed, mind whirring as she screamed on the inside.

It may take them some time yet to navigate the relationship they had been dreaming of, but at least they were on the right track now.