#why would I ever love a giant cat monster?

[lemonzst]

CLOSE UP

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Ngl, you were one of the first tumblr blogs that awakened the monsterfucker in me, did not ever expect I would be here, uhh I love your work especially the alien pet one!! Anyways uhhhh can I request an NSFW cannibalistic giant x human reader, can be any gender, idk if this classifies as monster or not idk??

Sorry this took so long!

(Requests still closed, old request)

*NSFW* Yandere!Cannibalistic Giant x GN!Reader

Short drabble CW: death, abduction, animal death, no lemon just lime, non con touching, NSFW, hands-free orgasm

"Stop ignoring me."

Numb and silent, the abducted human sat as motionless as a living corpse. They had fought back for the first few weeks, crying and begging for their life, attempting escapes whenever they thought they had an opening, but now (Reader) understood that they truly had no hope of ever leaving the giant's side alive, and it killed them before he had a chance to.

When the campsite was attacked, they watched as their friends were torn apart, limbs easily ripped off of their bodies and devoured right in front of them. In the roulette of fight, flight, or freeze, (Reader) threw themselves at the monsters mindlessly, despite being barely thigh height in comparison. They stabbed one of the giants with a barbeque poker, but it barely pierced his thick flesh. He didn't even let out a sound of pain; it was like (Reader) had thrown a pillow at him and not attempted to spear him.

The fiery haired giant (Reader) had attacked picked them up by the back of their shirt like a cat, examining them long enough for their adrenaline to dissipate.

Shockingly, he did not eat them like he did their friends.

Instead the bloody giant hoisted (Reader) over his shoulder and left his brethren to continue the carnage.

For weeks the traumatized human sat by the giant's side, inescapable. He never hurt them, but threatened them nearly every day.

"If you try to run again, I'll bite your legs off."

"Such a pretty little human; I'm sure you taste just as good as you look."

"When I finally scalp you, your hair will make a fine necklace."

It became monotonous, the threats of harm and death, so when the young adult finally cracked, the words didn't startle them into reacting, even when he escalated his taunts.

"I told you to stop ignoring me." He warned, grabbing his victim under the arms like a child and raising them up to eye level. (Reader) felt as though they couldn't will themselves to care. Their life was already over: there was no hope.

He opened his mouth as wide as he possibly could, and slowly placed his captive's head inside. When he couldn't feel them squirm he slid them in deeper until his teeth scraped their collar bone and upper shoulder blades. His teeth gently dug into their skin. It was supposed to be intimidating, a reminder that at any moment he could and would eat them, but when he still couldn't feel them move he pulled them back out, his eyebrows knitted together in what was either concern or disappointment.

A loud chuckle rumbled like thunder from another giant who had been watching with amusement from across the way. "Uh oh, Pinyon! Looks like you broke your new toy!"

The abductor harrumphed before carrying (Reader) somewhere private, grumbling out a venomous sounding "They aren't my toy.."

In the seclusion of his tent, he suddenly had a change of attitude, acting in a way he had never done before. He pressed his face against their stomach while holding their back in a fashion that felt like a caress. Tears formed out of confusion at the seemingly tender action. They had already accepted their death, so why was he hugging them?

"Interesting little one.." the giant's voice vibrated across their abdomen. "Please do not ignore me.."

When he was a child, Pinyon found a squirrel that had fallen out of a tree. He didn't know what was wrong with the animal, but it seemed injured, and it sounded like it was struggling to breathe. Meat was meat. It didn't matter what the meat was, everything the tribe found was food for them, whether it was animal or human. However, this wasn't a conquest, it wasn't a fight. It was his first struggle. The poor thing was struggling.

Pinyon picked up the little creature, unsure of why his chest felt so heavy. The thing bit him. It didn't hurt, and it didn't anger him. It made him happy. To see it fight back. The action showed Pinyon that the squirrel was still alive, and that it was going to be fine. He cared for the squirrel as tenderly as a human cared for a pet dog; bringing it food and gently trying to nurse it.

Then, the squirrel died.

That was it. He went to feed it, and it was limp. There was no sound, no blood, it just stopped.

When you're raised to eat whatever is given to you, when you're told that "meat is meat", it's easy to forget that the creatures screaming for mercy are alive.

He didn't know why, it wasn't the first time someone had fought back, and it wasn't his first human kill..

But the look on the little human's face as they leapt out at him with a pitiful excuse for a weapon reminded him of that squirrel.

"It doesn't matter if you hate me, or if you're scared of me. Even if it's to scream at me, don't ignore me."

The brief kindness was over in a second, the confusion and hope leaving (Reader's) body as quickly as it came. Just as the tears began to form and the weight lifted off their shoulders the giant squeezed them closer to his face and breathed in deeply. Wearing only their tattered undergarments, his breath felt hot against their bare stomach. It was an intimate gesture that gave birth to a new kind of fear, one that (Reader) hadn't previously considered.

His wet tongue left his mouth and poked their gut.

It wasn't the first time he had tasted them, but there were no promises of pain and consumption this time; instead there was a half lidded expression on his face that made (Reader) instinctively clamp their thighs shut.

Their hands flew to his face as they pathetically attempted to push him away with all of their strength. But the struggle seemed to excite him more, as he began licking their stomach more intensely, planting kisses along the tops of their pelvis as he traveled lower down their body.

"STOP!" (Reader) cried out as they bruised their fists on his forehead. Their body was quivering involuntarily as his drool began to mix with their sweat, dripping down towards their underwear. Pinyon's lips were too close to their last shred of apparel, and they felt shame as his breath tickling their body felt physically pleasurable.

"Is this what I need to do now-" his words agitated their sensitive body, making them arch their back in an attempt to put distance between is mouth and their crotch, "-so you'll stop ignoring me?"

(Reader) loudly sobbed, knowing that he could see how wet their clothing had become. It wasn't because he was attractive, or because they wanted him. The way he was holding them, the warm words hitting their lower half, it stained their underwear with arousal. The abductee wanted to beg him to look away, to explain that it wasn't him, that they weren't turned on. But only sobs came out as his sharp teeth slid into the underpants' belt line and tore their last line of defense down to their ankles.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

SO works at an animal shelter and our skeleton walks in once and is now ever animal in the shelters favorite person

SO is really jealous

Undertale Sans - Well sorry not sorry about that. What can he say? He's very popular. You told him you were concerned about what type of skeleton he is. Now it's pretty clear he must be some kind of gigantic sloth skeleton or something. Every animal wants to nap on him.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is actually a little overwhelmed by all the dogs around him. He doesn't know who he hasn't pet yet and it's stressing him out knowing one dog might feel less loved than the other ones. He doesn't care about what you think right now, he's too focused on trying to understand why terrible people would abandon such sweet babies. By the end of the day, he's asking you to adopt one.

Underswap Sans - He swears he did nothing, stop looking at him like that! He didn't even know that guinea pigs, which are neither from guinea or pigs, were a thing! He's lying in the enclosure, entirely covered with guinea pigs and he's not regretting anything. They're all squishy!

Underswap Papyrus - If I were you, I wouldn't be jealous about that. You should worry about how the hell you're going to convince your giant golden retriever of a boyfriend to go home without his 150 new dog babies. Honey never wants to leave again. That's his people. What do you mean he can't take all of them home? You can't let them sleep in this horrible place in the dark! That's abuse! What is they cry and no one hears them? D: He's devastated when you drag him out of there, begging you to at least take one home or he could never forgive himself lol. He's going to guilt trip you for weeks to get his fourth dog and he's not going to change his mind so good luck with that.

Underfell Sans - He's a bit uncomfortable, a lot of parrots on his arms and on his head. He doesn't understand why you're mad, he's literally terrified to move right now. Please take them back? Red is not exactly an animal person, not with birds at least, and he's a little confused right now. He's not sure how to escape this situation.

Underfell Papyrus - What? You're jealous? Good! He's a volunteer in a rescue as well and he told you he had a nice touch with the cats. Now you can see how true this is because he is clearly the best in all he does. Cry like a loser while he pets all the cats like an epic villain. Don't you know cats prefer scary people because they are better at protecting them from predators? You swear he just invented that. You're so mad.

Horrortale Sans - Well, you saw how the animals are all attracted to him in the farm so it's not a bit surprise all the dogs and cats are dying to come to see him. Even the most fearful dogs are all crawling on his lap to get affection. He just sits in the dog playroom while you work and have fun with the little furbabies. You wish you could do the same.

Horrortale Papyrus - He acts smug and silly because he likes to tease you, but you can see he's actually really happy about that. He didn't have that much love in a long time and even if it's little rabbits and not humans or monsters, he's happy. He even sits on the floor to stay with them and it's quite a while now, to the point you're a bit concerned about his back. But he's too happy to disturb him for now. He can have that moment.

Swapfell Sans - You can't believe it honestly. Chinchillas only choose one special person and somehow it's Nox. You wanted to be their special person! That's so unfair, you're trying to socialize them for weeks! Nox acts like he doesn't care and all but you surprise him by searching the internet to see what he needs to buy to take care of chinchillas. He's not asking you by the way. He's taking them home.

Swapfell Papyrus - You stop watching him for two minutes and then he comes in the room holding a huge raccoon in his hands and asks you to adopt him. You're so confused. There's literally no raccoon in your shelter??? Where the hell did it come from??? Rus is very proud of himself though. And he's definitely getting home with that thing, either you say yes or no. He's ready to squeeze it in his ribcage.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine is not happy. He has cat hair everywhere on his handmade suit and he's slowly dying inside. He hates cats. He hates all animals really, why the hell are they clinging to him like that? He's distressed and keeps staring at his S/O intensely to have some help. Unfortunately, you're way too amused to come and save him. It's rare to see Wine lose his mind.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - You let him have his fun. Coffee is crying right now, buried under a pile of big dogs. He's a bit overwhelmed and can't control his feelings anymore. All you can see are his two arms, trying to hug as many dogs as he can. He's never getting out of the pile. It's the best day of his life.

[razzdazzledoo]

How do you feel about people roleplaying as MX?

Alright everyone, sit down. I've been waiting for this moment.

Welcome to

RAZZDAZZLEDOO'S QUICK GUIDE TO WRITING MX!!

For those who wanna be in-line with the character while still having the freedom of not being canon.

So first things first, let's get the ground basis with MX.

MX does what he does for the reactions it brings, that kinda stuff is his entertainment. So he plans ahead, hoping to find the best snowball effect for the strongest look of terror on people's faces.

Though he doesn't plan THAT much, he gets a ground base and then improvises the rest of it so it's hard to plan ahead against him.

He's also not meant to be intimidating all the time either, his playmates will get bored if it's the same song and dance so he plays into other personalities to throw them off.

When their guard's down? He strikes while the iron's hot. And that makes them terrified even more.

Second, how he interacts with other people.

It ultimately depends on what the other person's like. Are they exactly like him? Do they have the potential to be? Or are they like Lucas where they clearly fear him?

Those kinda aspects will play into the chemistry MX can have with a person. He's best friends with Executable M and Mr. Virtual for a reason, they're just like him in the sense of 'tormenting for their own entertainment' along with whatever goals they have.

If they show fear, he'll play into it. He'll show them reasons to fear him, and then the next moment deceive them into believing there's some good in his heart. Only to then tear down those chances, and watch them crumble.

"What if I wanna ship my MX roleplay with someone?"

You have the freedom to do that, don't let me restrict you from having fun. I'll provide how he would, in-character, respond to romance. But I wanna get some rules down first.

Do not be sexual with him. That kinda shit makes me incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention I don't see him ever showing interest to the thought.

Do not ship him in problematic scenarios. This can include: People in the victim role, like MX took their soul and put them in a vessel; Characters who are directly stated to be minors; And characters that use Luigi's likeness. I outright forbid this and will not hesitate to block you if I see it.

Build up to it. MX obviously isn't going to know what the hell a "relationship" is, he's never entertained the idea and so it's going to take some time for him to learn. He's gonna have to figure out why he feels the way he does around that specific person, whether with their guidance or not.

He knows that humans can feel love, and how they respond to it, since he's been around since the universe's creation; but he personally doesn't know much on the subject.

When he realizes he's actually capable of love, he's not gonna know how to respond to it. He might even outright avoid the person he feels those emotions to since he has not an iota of knowledge with relationships.

If your interpretation of MX has an actual friendship with other muses, and he gets along greatly, he might go to them about it as a show of trust and they can help him figure it out.

Otherwise, he'd try and leave "gifts" for his special someone. Like a cat bringing you a dead bird, for comparison. Most of his gifts are eldritch abominations though, like a smaller version of one of his clouds in his world as an example.

On the other hand, if his special someone went to him first about pursuing a relationship and he does feel love towards them as well; He'd go along with it, essentially being a big giant teddy bear for them if he thinks it'd be funny enough.

If someone tries to pursue a relationship with him and he feels no attraction, he just kinda messes with them about it. Poking fun that they'd fall in love with a monster like him, who'd never love them back.

There's no canon MX ship, I just personally lean more towards Powerforest since it's a comfort ship of mine.

"What are some other tips?"

If your interpretation of MX can frown, make it have impact. That brute smiles all the time, regardless of the situation; So if he frowns, that's gonna have to mean something.

Canonically if MX frowns, he's locked in. He's not gonna waste time playing around, he wants you DEAD.

Don't be afraid to be silly sometimes.

It'd get awful boring real quick if MX was one-dimensional in a roleplay scenario, having something like that can give him way more depth and I encourage it.

You don't need to follow this guide exactly, but please still be respectful of the boundaries I expressed in here.

This is not meant to be a rulebook on how to write MX, you still have the freedom to write him how you feel most comfortable with writing him. This is just how I go about writing the character in my own spaces.

[delphi-shield]

a lover's guide to defusing time bombs // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade. 

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you? 

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides. 

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks. 

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is  muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose. 

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

[moonlit-dreamers]

Can you rate all Eclipse ships?

*rubs my grubby hands together* i abso-fuckin-lutely can

the lower they go doesnt mean "i despise it" (unless specified) its just that i dont find it interesting/dont personally ship it/never think about it. this also wont include poly ships bc then i just Wouldnt Stop. btw im not gonna edit this so if some shit is typed wrong then uh . sucks ig hjgfjhfh

eclipse/solar - 10/10 - nothing could be better than this. this is my otp above sun/eclipse. nothing can be improved upon bc it is perfect. learning to love urself by loving another version of urself? SIGN 💥 ME 💥 UP 💥

eclipse/sun - 10/10 - second thing i ever shipped (first was sun/solar <3) and its stuck with me ever since. enemies to lovers. wonderful. scrumptious

lord eclipse/sunvant - 10/10 i say this counts to be added to the list bc i fucking can. theyre also my otp. toxic codependency. sunvant having pure blind devotion to lord eclipse despite everything hes done to hurt him? GHOD

eclipse/sunbeam - 8/10 - grumpy cat x golden retriever. or maybe a yorkie with how much sun yaps ghdfghfgh. he'd probably act so fucking annoyed with how much sunbeam yaps but in reality he actually pays attention to all of it bc despite how little of it makes sense its actually entertaining

eclipse/moonshine - 8/10 - theyre nerds that kiss each other. they work on games and random projects together. theyre wonderful

eclipse/ruin - 8/10 - okay im actually writing these out of order and i was almost done THEN FUCKING FORGOT THIS. toxic yaoi at its finest. while ruin is still forcing eclipse to work for him he gets Silly™️ and just goes "i can do whatever i want and nobody will stop me" and ofc he does. if that includes torture or messing with him until his mind breaks then thats up to you. would this be accurate to canon ruin? absolutely not. do i care? fuck no <3

eclipse/dark sun - 7/10 - ADDING THIS IN EDITING BC I WAS FUCKING STUPID AND FORGOT THEM OTL. this the good shit. toxic yaoi. i have thoughts but theyre all gone rn idk wtf happened to them so imagine i made a shitty summary of a fucked up scenario

eclipse/old moon - 7/10 - gwuh creator/creation beloved. idk man. it could either be healing and fluff or angst and toxic. you pick <3

eclipse/solarflare - 7/10 - again. creator/creation. im unwell. AND YET ANOTHER COULD BE TOXIC OR FLUFFY. me thinks onesided pining from sf while eclipse is either oblivious or ignores it would be fun. OR they both use it as a chance to explore bc why not :3

eclipse/earth - 6/10 - not my favorite but its good for fluffy shit. idk why but every time i decide to doodle eclipse being flustered its always with earth. she just appears and makes it her job. idk what to do my hands just move on their own

eclipse/nexus - 5/10 - lower than old moon bc i just dont find it as interesting

eclipse/lunar - 5/10 - personally not that interested in it. but if you bring it up in the middle of a conversation another alter WILL come running over. he responds to it faster than his own damn name. ask him and he'd start going OFF.

eclipse/ballora - 4/10 never think about it but it could be fun

eclipse/bloodmoon - 4/10 - think it could be fun. again, could be toxic or fluffy.

eclipse/killcode - 4/10 - yet another "good ship but not personally interested". tho i think it could be fun. giant soft monster x angry small creature

eclipse/puppet - 3/10 - i like it more than puppet/foxy but thats only bc its eclipse added. i just. i dont like puppet. shes getting better but for a while she was SO annoying to me and i just. my opinion is tainted 😔

eclipse/vincent - 2/10 - i can see it? maybe? who fuckin knows lol

eclipse/anyone else - 1/10 - im just lumping everyone else into one thing so i dont go on forever. basically just the "never thought about it and probably wont continue thinking about it" ships

[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.”

[sakyhana13]

Excerpt without context from the Gelphie fanfiction in the style of "I need to save my girlfriend who was cursed to be a monster"

(Idea based on the fact that I'm a dumbass for witches trying to rescue and detransform their girlfriend cursed by a maniac, anyone who assistiu Dungeon Meshi knows what I'm talking about. that nobody asked for, but I need to share it or I'll explode.)

Elphaba watches Glinda sleep. It's so funny, even when she's in the form of a giant cat, with a high chance of snoring and drooling. But Glinda doesn't do that; she just sleeps quietly, with short breaths and the occasional snort. Her tail twitches happily every now and then. Elphaba wonders if, in this form, Glinda still has dreams and what she would dream about. There was a time when Elphaba knew the answer to all these hypotheses. Glinda dreamed. She dreamed big, of a life of adoration by the masses and unlimited influence. She dreamed of dinners and balls, of the burlesque life that the Emerald City had to offer.

They dreamed together, one day, of building a life in this place: Elphaba as the Wizard's apprentice, and Glinda as a socialite loved and well-liked by society. One day, Glinda dreamed of marrying Fiyero. One day, Elphaba dreamed of being like Glinda. Elphaba once dreamed of being loved and respected. But that had changed, at least for Elphaba. Ever since she left Glinda in that tower, her dream after ending the wizard's tyrannical rule had always been to one day return to her arms, at least one last time. To return to Glinda and to their dormitory, to hear the clicks of Glinda's heels hitting the floor. To Glinda's nimble, delicate fingers in her hair as they rested under their favorite tree on the Suicide Canal, while Elphaba read aloud from one of her books. Elphaba's dreams were filled with nights sharing a bed with Glinda beside her, whispering secrets and nonsense. Sometimes Elphaba would wake up smelling Glinda's perfume, as if her nose were buried in her blond curls, and the heat of her body just above hers. Elphaba didn't like to dwell on the past, or to ask silly questions, but she wondered how and when she had lost all of this. She knew the answer, but sometimes she still felt disbelief that she had lost Glinda. It wasn’t even her fault. It wasn’t even Glinda’s fault. They were just the right people at the wrong time. Always at the wrong time. Could they never exist without causing each other pain? Without hurting each other or becoming fractured? Not after Shiz.

Elphaba still remembers Glinda’s raw anger at their last meeting. She hadn’t expected the slap, hadn’t expected Glinda to hurt her. But Glinda had. Elphaba hadn’t expected to hurt her sweet girl either, but she had, because in the end, she had fought back. Her hand hadn’t touched Glinda’s face to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. No. Her hand had returned the insult in kind. It had always been that way between them, hadn’t it? Always fighting back and giving back what they had received from each other. Always trying to balance the scales. If heartbreak corrupted one heart, the other would soon follow. Just as affection in one could not blossom alone. Elphaba wonders why they were destined to this. Why were their destinies so singular, yet so rhyming? Why did Glinda's song always rhyme with hers? Why couldn't she just be alone? Why couldn't she exist with a heart of her own? Why were she and Glinda woven together in the universe, even when they were in opposition? Even when they were far apart? Why was their pain shared? Why was Glinda always following her, even when she didn't want to? Even trapped in this form where she was not remembered, where all Glinda knew was that someone had taken care of her when she was hurt. When all that was left of Elphaba in Glinda's psyche was a stranger. When they had already been so much more than that… She doesn't know how to reverse this, doesn't know how to heal her. She needed the Grimmerie to even look for a hint, a suggestion, but she also didn't want to try to use the damn book and make things worse.

[eldritch-spouse]

So… which of our charming Icons would allow their lol queen to have a pet? Like a cat not a mistress or something similar. I cannot live without my cats. Do any of them actually like cats?

The one who you truly can't have pets around is Vesper. He laments to inform you that animal populations in Lust are kept to a very controlled minimum. His Ring is a zone of constant sexual depravity, even the streets are unabashed erotic grounds, no one wants old Fido hanging around. Vesper's mansion is likewise a place of constant lavish sex, your poor pets wouldn't have a place to live normally.

Zizz demands that whatever animal you have never ever lay a claw on one of the blankets/pillows/plushies in the main bed chambers. The plush monsters might retaliate, and no one wants to see the outcome of that...

Vorticia would urge you not to bring small animals near her or any of her children. While they're less likely to act on hungry impulse than her, the chances of there being a tragedy are still very high in general.

Livius, as you know, will act out if your pets receive more attention than him. Enough said about his ability to care for animals.

Rinx loves pets! Why he has so many! It's just that... He tends to forget about them. And who knows what happens to them afterwards, right? Eh, take proper care of them, make sure they don't destroy his property too much and all will be fine.

Cero isn't much of an animal lover, but he does like cats, especially sphynx cats. You might be in luck, they'll certainly have the most gourmet of treatments.

Kalymir loves animals! But, well, the kind of animals he keeps around are very incompatible with a simple house cat. Between his giant magma lizards, the war steeds he keeps around, not to mention the hellhounds... Well, are you sure your kitty can make it unharmed?

[mysticraven20]

Adrien: So, “The Human Jawline,” huh? I can’t tell if I’m flattered or mildly concerned 🤔

Marinette: OH NO! DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW! DELETE IT FROM YOUR MIND! DELETE IT FROM EXISTENCE!

Adrien: I mean, I’ve been called a lot of things—Chat Noir, Adrien, Handsome—but ‘The Human Jawline’? That’s new 😼

Adrien: Should I start posing more dramatically in battle?

Adrien: Or start sporting some stubble? Draw a little more attention to it!

Marinette: STOP! NO! 100% NO! OMG! YOU’RE MAKING THIS WORSE!!!!

Adrien: Okay, okay. I’ll stop. But I have questions…

Adrien: Like, step 4, is it just my “ridiculously bad puns,” or all my puns?

Adrien: Because that would be… a CAT-astrophe! 😸

Marinette: I walked into that one, didn’t I?

Adrien: You really CLAWED your way into it, M’Lady!

Marinette: 😩 WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!

Adrien: Speaking of which, Step 5 on your list? You don’t need to make me anything. Knowing I’m the ‘most purr-fect partner’ is already enough 😻

Marinette: That’s… very sweet.

Adrien: I mean it.

Adrien: And if you really want to know, you’re kind of my inspiration for my own resolutions 🤩

Marinette: UGH. Fine. Since you’re clearly enjoying this, why don’t YOU share your New Year’s resolutions, huh?

Marinette: Let’s see how embarrassing YOUR list is.

Adrien: Oh, mine’s simple. Step 1: Be a better hero. Step 2: Be a better partner.

Marinette: …That’s actually really sweet. But unneeded. You’re already a SUPER partner!

Adrien: Great pun! But, I’m not done yet…

Adrien: Step 3: Convince Marinette to let me bring her truffles to patrol because they’re miraculous and I know she loves them

Marinette: I do love a chocolate covered truffle!

Adrien: 😉

Adrien: Step 4: Use even more puns this year, just to see her reaction

Marinette: Woah! Woah! Woah! That is NOT a valid resolution! That totally goes against mine!

Adrien: Oh, it’s totally valid. It’s my resolution. Step 5: Make M’Lady laugh every single day.

Adrien: I’m already on a roll with that one. I saw you laughing earlier 😉

Marinette: You were thrown into a manure truck! Of course I laughed!

Adrien: How do you know it wasn’t just to make you laugh? I could have let the giant gnome throw me in there on purpose!

Marinette: You’re impossible, you know that 🙄

Adrien: And yet, you keep me around. Admit it, M’Lady, I’m paws-itively irresistible.

Marinette: If this is what I’m dealing with all year, I need a new resolution.

Adrien: Let me guess: Step 6: Don’t strangle Adrien Agreste.

Marinette: …How did you know? It’s like you could read my brain 😮

Adrien: You’d miss me too much, Bugaboo.

Marinette: You’re incorrigible!

Adrien: And you’re adorable. Guess we’re both stuck this way.

Marinette: And, to think, I used to believe you were a sweetheart!

Adrien: Don’t lie…you still do! I’ve seen the eyes you gave me earlier!

Marinette: Oh, please. Those weren’t ‘sweetheart’ eyes—they were ‘seriously, dude?’ eyes. Get it right!

Adrien: Wow, Marinette, that really stings. And here I was, dusting off your shrine in my cupboard. Guess I’ll just torch it now 🔥

Marinette: Sure…so, how was your New Year’s Eve in the end?

Adrien: Oh, you know, just the usual. Stopped an akuma, fought some monsters, gave a few puns to keep the mood light…

Marinette: Dived head first into a manure truck…

Marinette: Actually…I can scrap step 3. Your hair was a bit CRAPPY yesterday!

Adrien: Ding! Ding! Ding! Round One. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng has come out for a pun war.

Adrien: Don’t start something you know you can’t finish, M'Lady 😉

Marinette: Says the guy who can’t send everything he wants to say in one message 💬

Adrien: Me-ouch! Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night. What did I ever do to you? I thought you said I was the purr-fect partner?

Adrien: (See! I can send it in one message)

Marinette: Two…so your New Year?

Adrien: Apart from missing you and dreaming of a kiss at midnight? Not a lot! I went home and celebrated in the most Chat Noir way I could—by taking a nap in front of the TV with a pizza. It was glorious 😍

Marinette: That sounds… actually really nice

Adrien: Well, I am a good kisser. You should give me a try sometime 😘 oh wait, you already have…multiple times!

Marinette: If the modelling doesn’t work out, you should try to become a comedian!

Adrien: One step ahead of you, M, I’m already writing a joke book

Adrien: You know, using M would be so much easier…it can stand for Marinette, or M’Lady…

Adrien: …Or mine (delete)

Marinette: I can live with that! But if I’m M, you have to be A

Adrien: For ‘Awesome’, right?

Marinette: Or annoying…

Adrien: Whatever you say Miss Moneypenny 👀

Marinette: 🙄

Adrien: What about you? How was your night? Hopefully not too many disasters.

Marinette: Surprisingly not. I spent most of it with my parents, so...

Marinette: But I did almost spill hot chocolate all over the floor trying to carry too many mugs at once 🤦🏻‍♀️

Marinette: But hey, step 3! I didn’t trip! Progress!

Adrien: I’m proud of you, M 😉♥️

Adrien: And if you ever did spill anything again, I’d be right over to save you

Marinette: Awww, you’re too kind. But you’ll have to beat my new and improved cat-like reflexes to it first meow 😼

Adrien: Challenge accepted. After all, you can’t beat the original

Marinette: I won’t disagree with that! Tell Plagg he’s always my number one

Adrien: Step 7: Be nicer to Adrien Agreste

Marinette: I am nice! I’m telling you, you can come over for hot chocolate ☕️

Adrien: Let me just get my shoes on…

Marinette: Wait, you’re really coming over? Now?

Adrien: I’m just trying to keep my New Year’s resolutions on track, you know? I did say I’d be a better partner…why not start with hot beverages?

Marinette: …I think you’re making your own excuses for seeing me, Chaton.

Adrien: Guilty as charged.

Marinette: See you in 10 ♥️

Marinette: Oh, and come in through the front door. My papa’s starting to ask questions.

[lurlur]

Rating the NHL mascots - Part 2

Part 1 is here

Minnesota Wild

Nordy

What are you, Nordy? Officially, Nordy is a "wild animal" which is just SUPER helpful, Minnesota. Thanks. He's got a sweet face, though. I like the extra colouring that keeps him from being boring. I feel like he'd benefit from some sharp teeth though. Give the boy some ferocity. Assuming he's the kind of wild animal that can be ferocious? WHO FUCKIN' KNOWS???

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetics: 9/10

Horror: 2/10

Fuckability: 6/10

Overall, 6/10. Could be better, but the inability to commit hurts Nordy's potential.

Buffalo Sabres

Sabretooth

I may not have much in this world, but one of the things that I do have is a degree in palaeontology. This goofy looking motherfucker is not an accurate sabretooth cat and I have decided to take that personally. This is a cartoon tiger with dental issues. This is Tony the Tiger's inbred cousin. He's not OK. At least he looks relatively kind, if a little concerned.

Vibes: 5/10

Aesthetics: 1/10

Horror: 1/10

Fuckability: 1/10

Overall, 2/10. Is it too much to ask for to have palaeontologically accurate mascots in 2023?

Nashville Predators

Gnash

Is this a joke? Am I a joke to you? ANOTHER sabre tooth cat? Jesus fucking christ. OK, this one isn't AS bad. It's not good, but it's not as bad as the last entry. Actual sabre teeth, a sculpted cat head, team colours can be forgiven for mascot purposes. The lower jaw is all wrong and the stripes are conjecture at best, but the overall effect doesn't fill me with the same blind rage as Buffalo's cat. Gnash is getting by on a loaded comparison. His name is pretty cool though.

Vibes: 6/10

Aesthetics: 4/10

Horror: 5/10

Fuckability: 3/10

Overall, 4.5/10. Literally skating through because Sabretooth is SO bad and SO fresh in my memory. Take the wins where you can, Gnash.

Florida Panthers

Stanley C. Panther

Florida somehow has two mascots? I'm going with Stanley, but please do be aware of, I assume, Matthew Tkachuk's best friend: Victor E. Rat.

Stanley, here, is a panther. Of course. And he's fine. Just fine. Another big cat, underwhelming design, pretty minimal costuming. He's got a reasonably characterful face. I feel like a good performer could make him work, but in still images he's lacklustre. Sorry, Stanley.

Vibes: 6/10

Aesthetics: 3/10

Horror: 3/10

Fuckability: 6/10

Overall, 4.5/10. Middling score for a middling mascot. Maybe I should have gone with Victor...

New York Islanders

Sparky the Dragon

Got myself tied in knots about this one because the Isles have made some attempts to move on from Sparky, it seems. There's an absolutely horrifying fisherman named Nyisles that I won't ever unsee. The NHL website says Sparky, though, so Sparky it is! He's a dragon! Look at his lil wings! Good teeth, bright colours, horns for holding. What's not to love? Literally nothing. Except the fact that he's mascot for the Isles... but that's not what we're doing here.

Vibes: 10/10

Aesthetics: 10/10

Horror: 4/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 8/10. He's a dragon! I love me a dragon! I don't care!

St Louis Blues

Louie

Louie, OK. Blue, OK. Wipe clean mouth? OK, I guess. Why a bear, though? And why such a pale blue? This thing must be a nightmare to keep clean. Good ear shape, kind face, not quite hitting the bear perfection that is Carlton but a decent effort. The muzzle really is throwing me as a weird design choice. Like, OK, it does make the face more visually interesting but it also just looks like Louie has a skin problem. Does he have mange? We simply don't know.

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetics: 7/10

Horror: 3/10

Fuckability: 5/10

Overall, 5.5/10. Mostly because I'm concerned about his health. I don't want to catch mange.

Detroit Red Wings

Al the Octopus

Oh yeah, now we're talking. I actively hate this for a million reasons but it's so fucking insane that I also kind of love it! I do wish that Detroit fans would stop throwing octopuses onto the ice because that is no fate for a poor cephalopod. But look! It's a giant tentale monster! He looks MEAN! That's not just a guy in a bad fur suit! it's interesting and that's worth big points. I fully believe that Al would beat the shit out of me for no reason.

Vibes: 10/10

Aesthetics: 9/10

Horror: 9/10

Fuckability: 10/10

Overall, 9.5/10. Horrible, never stop.

Philidelphia Flyers

Gritty

Now, this is podracing! Gritty is how you do weird, undefined monster mascots properly. Gritty emerged following construction work at the Philidephia arena and is best described as a force for chaos. The eyes are wild, the energy is all over the place, the flow is spectacular, and the best part of Gritty's launch was the speed with which Philidelphia went from rejecting their new freak to declaring Gritty the new godking. Oh, you think Gritty is an ugly monster? Fuck you, we love them. Gritty is also undeniably a queer ally/icon/community leader? Hard to say exactly, but it's there. Immaculate vibes. Shame we can't say the same about everyone on the team...

Vibes: 10/10

Aesthetics: 10/10

Horror: 10/10

Fuckability: 10/10

Overall, 10/10. Gritty, hit me up. I have a short list of Flyers I need you to eat. Thanks, babe.

Ottawa Senators

Spartacat

Someone please get this lion a good haircare routine? Dear god, Spartacat. You leave the house looking like this? There's something almost endearing about how wet and pathetic this lion looks. He's just giving nothing. I want to nominate him for Queer Eye.

Vibes: 6/10

Aesthetics: 4/10

Horror: 2/10

Fuckability: 4/10

Overall, 4/10. Honestly, it's a pity fuck as well. Someone please help this lion.

Montreal Canadiens

Youppi!

What IS it? A man? Why is it so hairy? It might be a giant (lol) but that doesn't explain much at all. I HATE this. I think that's a fully body beard. You could shave that and maybe find just a normal man underneath. It's SO orange which just looks jarring with the Montreal colours. Bad. I would turn around and walk the other direction if I saw this on the street.

Vibes: 2/10

Aesthetic: 1/10

Horror: 8/10

Fuckability: 0/10

Overall, a generous 3/10. Please never make me look at Youppi! again.

Vancouver Canucks

Fin the Whale

They anthropomorphised a whale. That feels like it should be a crime. Certainly the way they've gone about it is. Fin loses points for having his dorsal fin on the back of his head and not, y'know, his actual back. He also appears to have no tail which is a real shame. Tails are a great design choice in almost every situation. I do like the sharp teeth and red tongue, though. Very suggestive. This feels like a missed opportunity. Fin could have been a lot better but they took the easy path instead of the interesting one. Boo you, Canucks design team.

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetics: 4/10

Horror: 5/10

Fuckability: 6/10

Overall, 5.5/10. I really wanted to like this more. I'm going to think about Ethan Bear for a minute to cheer myself up.

San Jose Skarks

S J Sharkie

No points for originality on the name, but for literally everything I just said about Fin? Sharkie gets it right. His dorsal fin is in the right place, he has shark elements beyond his head with those little elbow fins. Clear evidence that it's possible to make a weird sea creature/man hybrid without being boring AF. The head is a weird shape, but I'm feeling too much goodwill towards Sharkie right now to really mind. Nice teeth, too. I would have loved to have seen rows of teeth, maybe with some missing for a real hockey feel.

Vibes: 8/10

Aesthetics: 8/10

Horror: 6/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 7.5/10. A good score for a very smooth boy. Smooth in every direction.

Arizona Coyotes

Howler the Coyote

Hims feets too big for hims gotdamn shoes! I haven't ever actually seen a coyote before, so I had to go looking for a comparison. Conclusion? Why is his face so wide? I do like the very pointy nose, though. We've seen too many soft faced predators, this boy has a SNOUT. Got some lil teefies too, I like that. And a tail. I keep coming back to the feet busting out of the shoes though, like some teen wolf knock off. I kinda love it.

Vibes: 9/10

Aesthetics: 8/10

Horror: 4/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 7/10. Very good showing for a pointy faced doggo who needs new shoes.

Columbus Blue Jackets

Stinger

Help. Serously, please help me. Look at this thing. It's a bug, meant to be a play on blue jackets/yellow jackets. But I don't know what a yellow jacket is so any cleverness is kind of lost on me. This is HORRIBLE. They really went all in on making this unpleasant and I can applaud that, even as I hate it viscerally. And I do. The eyes, the butt, the rictus grin, the colour... It is offensive to mine eyeballs. I love it. One note, they should have given it another set of limbs.

Vibes: 1/10

Aesthetics: 10/10

Horror: 8/10

Fuckability: 0/10

Overall, 5/10. Awful. I can't look away.

Honourable mention to Boomer, the other Blue Jackets mascot who is just an anthropomorphic cannon. Great moustache. I wonder if Johnny Gaudreau is afraid of it.

Anaheim Ducks

Wild Wing

I do not believe that Wild Wing's designer had ever seen a duck. I'm not sure that the person who described duck to the designer or Wild Wing had ever seen a duck either. I think the description of a duck may have passed through as many as 15 people who had never seen a duck before reaching Wild Wing's designer. Oh Holly, you're so harsh. It's a duck in a hockey mask. OK, so they hadn't seen a modern hockey mask either. I like the mean expression, somehow through a mask, the Donald Duck-esque nudity, and the feet design. Almost a horse-sized duck.

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetics: 6/10

Horror: 5/10

Fuckability: 4/10

Overall, 5.5/10. You're no good, duck. You'll never be shit. You're just like your father.

Chicago Bad Team

Tommy Hawk

That's a turkey.

Vibes: 0/10

Aesthetics: 0/10

Horror: 0/10

Fuckability: 0/10

0/10. Boo.

[crystalsblogcorner]

I rewrote my first ever fanfic ‘A Friendly Danger’ because tbh I didn’t like it that much, but I really love how this turned out and I hope you all do to enjoy!

Words: 2849

Tw: body horror, depictions of syringes/pills/medication

A Friendly Danger (Rewritten)

Crystal, a tiny four-inch human with a mouse tail and ears, had become quite adept at navigating the world of giants. Her curiosity had led her to the grand library of the castle of the royal family, where she often found refuge in the vast sea of books. The scent of dusty pages and aged leather filled the air, offering a comfort that the towering corridors outside could not.

One evening, as Mark, the six-foot-two prince with a cat tail and ears, read to her from a particularly large book, she cozied up against his shoulder. "Why do they call the dragon a monster?" she asked, her voice as soft as the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Mark paused, looking down at the page before responding, "The dragon destroyed a village and took the princess. It's said that it ate her."

Crystal's bright eyes grew wide with shock. "But why would it do that?"

Mark shrugged, his furry ears twitching slightly. "Dragons are predators. They need to eat to survive."

Crystal nodded, considering his words. "But the village had food, didn't they?"

"Certainly," Mark said, stroking his chin, "but humans and dragons have had a tumultuous history. Sometimes, their paths cross in unfortunate ways."

Crystal's curiosity remained unquenched. "Is there a way to change that?"

Mark closed the book with a gentle thud. "Some say that understanding can lead to peace. Others believe that dragons are simply too wild to be tamed." He sighed, his tail swishing behind him. "But that's a story for another time."

The candles on the nightstand flickered as they burned low, casting shadows across the room. Crystal yawned, her tiny hand resting on the plush fabric of Mark's nightshirt. "Okay," she said sleepily, "but promise me we'll talk more about it tomorrow."

Mark nodded, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "I promise," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

As the moon climbed the sky, casting silvery beams through the castle windows, Crystal curled up on her makeshift bed of rolled-up socks, her thoughts swirling with tales of dragons and heroes. Mark's deep, rhythmic breathing soon filled the room, hinting at his descent into sleep. But unbeknownst to Crystal, his slumber was plagued by nightmares of his own nature—his family's dark secret. The whispers of his ancestors grew louder in his dreams, urging him to embrace the power that lay dormant within him. Mark's eyes snapped open, his heart racing. He sat up in bed, his breaths shallow and his fur standing on end. His reflection in the moonlit mirror revealed his pupils dilating into thin slits, the whites of his eyes filling with the dreaded black liquid. He knew what was coming—the transformation he had worked so hard to suppress.

Panic gripped him as he scrambled to the bathroom, seeing the empty pill bottle on the bathroom counter. "No," he murmured, the word barely audible as his teeth began to elongate into fangs. The guards had warned him of the consequences of missing a dose, but he had been so focused on Crystal and finding a way to help her regain her normal height she lost after eating a magical fruit that he had forgotten. The transformation was already beginning. His muscles tensed and shifted, his legs bending in unnatural ways as they morphed into a sleek, powerful feline form. The pain was excruciating, but Mark had felt it before—a stark reminder of the curse that plagued his animalistic side of hybrids. He didn't want Crystal to see him like this, didn't want her to fear him. With trembling hands, he managed to lock the bathroom door, hoping to keep her safe.

Crystal, however, had heard the commotion. Her heart pounded in her chest as she called out to Mark, her voice echoing through the stillness of the night. When she received no answer, she grew concerned. Venturing out from her bed of socks, she approached the bathroom door and knocked gently. "Mark? Are you okay?"

Crystal's concern grew into fear as she heard the unmistakable sound of wood splintering. Mark's voice, now a feral growl, called back, "I'm fine. Stay out."

Ignoring his warning, she crawled under the door, her heart racing. The sight before her was like nothing she had ever seen. Mark, the gentle giant who had taken her in and protected her, now had the gleaming eyes of a predator, his body a terrifying amalgamation of man and beast. She took a step back, her eyes wide with horror. Mark's eyes darted to her, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of the person she knew. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a creature driven by instinct. With a snarl, he lunged, his new feline body moving with a grace that defied his size. Crystal screamed, her nimble body surrying under the door in an instant.

The chase was on. Mark's powerful new legs propelled him across the room, his claws slicing through the thick carpet with ease. Crystal darted from one piece of furniture to another, her heart racing as she tried to outsmart the creature that had once been her friend. She knew Mark wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't be sure of this...this thing. Terrified, she dashed under the bed, her tiny frame slipping into the tight space with surprising agility. Mark's shadow loomed over the bed, his clawed hand reaching under, swiping through the dust bunnies with a ferocity that sent shivers down her spine. He was playing with her, she realized—a cat with a mouse.

"Please, Mark," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's me, Crystal."

The creature paused, its hand hovering just above her. There was a moment of stillness, a glimmer of recognition in its eyes, and Crystal felt a sliver of hope. But the moment was fleeting, the monster's pupils dilating again, and it swiped at her with lightning speed. Crystal barely had time to react, her heart racing as she rolled out of the way, her mouse tail brushing against the cold floorboards. From outside the room, the sound of running footsteps grew louder. The castle guards had been alerted by the commotion, and they burst through the door, their swords drawn. Crystal watched in horror as they approached Mark, who had backed himself into a corner, his eyes shimmered like onyx with a purple glowing slit in the center.

The guards didn't hesitate. One of them, a stoic man with a scar running down his cheek, grabbed Mark's shoulders and held him down. Another guard pulled out a syringe filled with a luminescent serum, his hand shaking slightly. "It's okay, Your Highness," he said, his voice strained. "This will help."

Mark's snarls grew more feral as the needle pierced his skin, but the serum worked almost instantaneously. His body began to convulse, the fur and claws retreating back into his human form. The purple glow in his eyes receded, leaving behind a look of anguish and despair. Crystal watched from the safety of the shadows, her heart aching for the pain Mark was experiencing. As the guards released their grip, Mark slumped to the floor, panting heavily.

Crystal, still under the bed, watched the transformation with a mix of horror and sadness. She had never seen Mark like this before, never knew the depth of his struggle. The guards, now at ease, helped Mark to his feet. "You must take these pills," the scarred guard said firmly, holding out a fresh bottle. "We can't have you losing control like that again."

Mark nodded, his human features returning to their usual calm demeanor. He took the bottle, his eyes meeting Crystal's from under the bed. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the weight of his secret heavy in his voice. The guards leave the room as fast as they came in, and once the door shut mark called out to crystal, "crystal?"

Her voice was shaky as she responded, "I'm here."

Mark sighed in relief, his hand reaching under the bed to gently coax her out. "You should go back to sleep," he said, his voice hoarse from the transformation. "It's okay now."

Crystal hesitated, her eyes scanning Mark's body for any signs of danger. Satisfied that he was indeed back to normal, she scurried out, her mouse tail quivering. "What was that?" she asked, her voice still laced with fear.

Mark sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his cat tail swishing behind him. "It's a... a part of me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "A part I try to keep hidden."

Crystal crawled up onto the bed, her eyes never leaving Mark's. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, his human hand trembling slightly. "I'm not just a prince with a tail," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a hybrid, like you, but my other half is... something darker."

Crystal listened intently, her small frame curled up on the bed next to him. "What do you mean?"

Mark took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "My ancestors," he began, "were involved in a pact with dark forces to protect the kingdom. In return, some of us are born with... with this curse."

Crystal's eyes widened. "A curse?"

Mark nodded solemnly. "A drake's blood runs through my family's veins. It's why my eyes turn black and I get these...urges."

Crystal's curiosity was piqued, but she could see the pain in Mark's eyes. She scooted closer, placing a tiny hand on his arm. "Is there a way to change it?"

Mark sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "There are pills," he said, holding up the bottle the guard had given him. "They help me control it. Without them..." He trailed off, his voice heavy with the unspoken horror of what could happen.

Crystal looked at the pills, then back at Mark. "But what if they don't work one day?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Mark's eyes searched hers, his tail swishing restlessly. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. "For now, let's just get some rest."

But rest was elusive for Crystal. Her mind raced with questions about Mark's condition, the pills, and the dark pact that had been made. What if one day the pills didn't work? What would happen to Mark?

The next few days were tense. Mark tried to act normal, but Crystal could see the strain in his eyes, the way he would tense up whenever someone mentioned dragons or the history of the kingdom. He avoided her questions, instead focusing his efforts on their shared quest to find a way to return her to her original size. Yet, the shadows of doubt lingered in the air, thick as the dust motes that danced in the sunbeams that filtered through the library windows. One afternoon, as they pored over ancient tomes and scrolls, Crystal's tiny finger brushed against a peculiar symbol etched into the corner of a page. It was a stylized image of a drake and a cat locked in an intricate dance, surrounded by unfamiliar runes. Mark's eyes snapped to the symbol, his breath catching in his throat.

"What is it?" Crystal asked, her curiosity piqued by his reaction.

Mark's gaze remained glued to the page, his furry ears laid back in an unspoken warning. "It's an old family emblem," he said slowly, his voice tight. "A reminder of the pact."

Crystal studied the image, her mind racing. "Could it be connected to the fruit that shrank me?"

Mark took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the page. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tight with tension. "But we should keep looking."

They spent hours in the library, searching for any clue that might lead them to a way to reverse Crystal's transformation. The silence was occasionally broken by the rustle of parchment and the occasional sigh of frustration. Mark's mind kept drifting back to the night of his change, the fear in Crystal's eyes, and the guilt that now gnawed at him like a persistent itch.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the room, Crystal's eyes lit up. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. She stood on a dusty tome, her tiny finger pointing to an illustration of a fruit remarkably similar to the one she had eaten.

Mark looked at the book, his heart racing as he scanned the page. The fruit was surrounded by the same mystical runes that adorned the emblem of his family's pact. Could it be a coincidence? Or was their fate intertwined in a way they hadn't anticipated? He read aloud the text that accompanied the illustration, his voice low and measured. "The Fruit of Alteration, a rare and powerful artifact of the ancients, holds the ability to transform those who consume it. Its effects, however, are unpredictable, and often come with a price."

Crystal's eyes grew wide. "Could this be it?" she whispered.

Mark nodded solemnly. "It's definitely worth investigating," he said, his eyes scanning the page for more information. "But we must be careful. These fruits are not to be trifled with."

The following days saw Mark and Crystal delving deeper into the castle's archives, seeking any information on the Fruit of Alteration. They discovered that the fruit had been grown from the seeds of a mystical tree, one that had been planted by the first hybrid ruler of the kingdom in an attempt to bridge the gap between humans and the animal world. The tree had since withered away, leaving behind only the legend of its powerful fruit. Mark's mind raced with possibilities. Could they somehow find another fruit, or perhaps a way to reverse the transformation? His determination grew with each page they turned, driven by his desire to help Crystal and his own fear of losing control again.

Their search led them to the castle's greenhouse, a vast chamber filled with exotic plants and trees. It was here that the royal family had once cultivated the mystical tree. The air was thick with the scent of soil and blooming flowers, and the sound of dripping water echoed through the space. Crystal's heart raced as Mark pointed out the spot where the tree had once stood, now a barren patch of earth surrounded by a ring of withered vines. "This is where it was," he said, his voice hushed with reverence. "But the tree is long gone."

They searched the greenhouse high and low, digging through soil and examining every inch of the decayed area. It was a fruitless endeavor, but they didn't give up. Each night, Mark would take his pills and try to sleep, his dreams haunted by the fear of losing control again. Crystal, ever vigilant, would keep watch from her bed of rolled-up socks, her tiny body tense with worry. The next day rolled around, and Mark suggested they take a break from their investigations. "We've been at this for days," he said, his voice gentle. "We need to rest our minds, maybe even have a little fun." Crystal nodded, her eyes still filled with questions but understanding the need for a reprieve.

They decided to play tic tac toe on a piece of parchment, using a tiny stick of charcoal that Crystal had found in the library. Mark used a feather to draw the grid, and Crystal's nimble fingers placed the x's and o's with surprising precision. Despite his best efforts, Mark found himself losing to Crystal's clever strategy. She giggled with each victory, her mouse tail flicking with excitement. The tension of their recent discoveries momentarily forgotten, they moved on to a game of hide and seek. Mark's feline instincts made it easy for him to find the perfect hiding spots, but Crystal's size advantage allowed her to slip into the most unnoticeable nooks and crannies. Her squeaks of delight echoed through the library when she emerged from behind a bookshelf, having eluded Mark once again.

As they played, the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor. The warm, golden light painted the dusty tomes in a soft glow, and the candles flickered to life as the room grew dimmer. Mark chuckled as he watched Crystal scurry around, her tail a blur as she darted from one hiding spot to the next. The sound of their laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to the dark secrets that lurked within the castle's walls. They continued their games, the hours slipping by unnoticed. Finally, as the last light of the day disappeared beyond the horizon, Mark found Crystal curled up in a teacup, her giggles giving her away. He reached in, his clawed hand gentle as he scooped her out, and she squealed in delight. As he held her up in victory, a low, rumbling growl resonated through the castle, shaking the very foundation beneath them.

The sound was unmistakable—a drake's roar.

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

"I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me..."

Possible trigger warnings?: -Angst -Mentions of zombiefied cat-like creature, haha.

Context/Synopsis:

Writing Prompt: Base a quick (Less than 500 words) story after a song you've been listening to recently.

Characters featured: -Copycat -Loki

Notes: -This is the song I based this on. (It's such a good cover, holy shit-) -This is meant to be a similar AU universe to Earth-807128 from the Marvel Comics? Not entirely the same, ofc, but basically a 'Copyverse' version.

The city was quiet, uncharacteristic of the usually bustling city New York once was. The world is close to being a whole desert, save for this one city. The buildings ruined as greenery and nature overtook the human-made structures, reclaiming the area again.

But why didn't anyone ever come here looking for resources? It would be a hotspot, being a literal oasis. There is a big reason.

In the center of the city, crumpled in a heap of awe-striking bone, is the skeleton of who once was a great prince of Asgard. The skeleton itself is harmless, if a bit creepy. No, the skeleton's guardian strikes fear in all who dared come close.

The creature stalked the area like a wolf patrolling its territory. A massive creature resembling a half-decayed feline of some kind. Big tufted ears, an exposed spine, an exposed ribcage, and a beating human heart in its chest that thumped with the power of the soul stone.

This creature appeared out of nowhere the same day that the Asgard prince used their power to turn giant, the same day that giant fell and left behind their bones. This thing appeared, sticking by the skeleton like the giant's remains were the creature's only lifeline.

Any human, mutant, or otherwise that came close to the skeleton met with the guard's ire, who'll do all it could to kill anything that got too close.

Though, there is a bit of heartache to this story, too.

Nobody knows who this creature is, as barely anyone is still alive who remembers. However, if you're close enough to notice, the monster makes known why it holds the god so dearly.

If you pay attention, in the dead of night when the moon is at its highest peak, you may hear the haunting melody of a song in the air as the soul stone projects the longing within the creature using the music the soul stone creates so readily.

It's a love song, deep and longing, speaking of the creature's unwavering love and heartache.

[augment-techs]

Okay so Im reading this fic, and I thought you would enjoy what the premise basically is... Person A watches Person B put themselves through a near death experience, for an admittedly dumb reason, and is so god damn angry and panicky about it.  However afterwards, B is acting like it's not even a big deal, which causes A to yell at the rest of their group to leave the room before rounding on B to say how stupid that stunt was, and B is just being the epitome of "I had it under control, I wasn't in any real danger", which just sets A off to the point where A desperately needs some sort of physical confirmation that B is there and alive and real, and A just starts kissing B and getting into their space as close as they can... and B only pushes them away when they realize that A is crying, and thats when B actually starts to feel bad, and apologizes and assures A that they are here and that they're okay, and they wipe away the tears and just kinda hold each other for awhile...

Okay, here's the thing, the first thought is that A has to be Billy and B has to be Skull, because this is just their type casting speaking to the brain. But really, Billy is the one with the Power, with the habits of getting into things he's not supposed to almost every single day for two years, who works for a company with a woman willing to take on god-like beings if it means it might be the equivalent of wagging a finger in Zordon's face. If anyone is going to go into a near death situation without thinking about it, it's going to be Billy. Probably probing something equivocal to a bomb that could go off at any second, Bulk and Skull recording from a ledge in the aftermath of another fight between the Rangers and a giant monster. Probably, the two punks thought they'd get an after-action recording of the Rangers talking to each other, or performing clean up or going through the motions with Ms. Sterling and her little helpers. Billy would just so happen to almost get flattened by a large chunk of dead monster falling down from the equipment he was going over and Skull...would not be pleased. Would be so displeased in fact that he might, oh, shove the camera into Bulk's hands and climb down the ledge of ruined architecture like a particularly angry alley cat, grumbling and growling and walking right by security. The Grim Reaper would probably look less intimidating, marching directly up to Billy and picking him up to sling over his shoulder and stomping off to have a conversation. Except the "conversation" is mostly just the back and forth of Skull trying to remind Billy that he's a human being that can be injured and he might have grown into himself since they were ten, added on a little muscle and gained the ability to run really fast, "But that doesn't mean you should just shrug off almost getting smashed down into the pavement like a bug," while Billy actually looks a little amused, shrugging off the way Skull's all shaky and loud, and just generally acting like Skull is the one being ridiculous, "And anyway, why are you so worried about it?" "BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU, YOU FUCKING--!!" And crying. Actual tears from the taller boy, the punk, the hasn't been a bully since Arrival Day, the first friend Billy ever had. And Skull too embarrassed to stick around, turning and walking away and avoiding the hell out of Billy for days, not saying a word. Oh, and then the scenario turns perfectly on its head. Because watching BOTH of them cry, and hide, and worry, and kiss in desperation. Wouldn't THAT be lovely~

[lexyvey]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐔)

I didn’t really have your typical upbringing. I mean, even before, when I had no mom and an alcoholic piece of shit father. All it did was make for a 12-year-old runaway burdening his Uncle Wayne’s doorstep. And sure, that’s normal-ish, but then the world ended. I don’t think anyone was really shocked – mean, yea it was shocking to the masses of mindlessly pathetic capital pigs twiddling their thumbs never asking questions of why or should I – but I digress. It wasn’t really much of a shock to those whose lives had been shaped by the Upside Down before the end of times. Robin kind of always thought it might after all the times it had screwed our little rag-tag group over, but then it finally happened. How it happened, now that’s where it gets interesting.

In 86’ we thought we’d finally defeated Vecna. I had only just joined in on the fight, but apparently, this guy was tired of waking, eating, and sleeping —or I think that’s how his evil cliche monologue went (truth be told I remembered every word because… well… he wasn’t exactly wrong on that front, but whatever) – and decided it was his purpose to turn earth into some monster fucked hellscape. The superhero girl gave him a hell of his own using magic powers though and the world was saved… except that didn’t quite end up happening. See, Max… she didn’t quite make it to the hospital before letting go. It wasn’t until two days later that everything changed.

And by “everything,” I mean cold-blooded creatures. 

And by “changed,” I mean supernatural cancer that caused temperatures to plummet and weather to shift, an overwhelming increase of fungi and sense of rot, and an unhealthy appetite for death. Flower-faced-face-sucking-fuckers, giant spider thingies, mutated bats: You name it. There’s a lot of them.

I knew this one kid, whose cat was eaten by his “pet lizard,” Dart, which turned out to be one of those juvenile flower-faced-face-sucking-fuckers. Man, Dustin loved Dart… and that cat.

So, for most of human history, if you wanted to kill a bat, all you needed was a glue trap. Well, suddenly you needed a shotgun – thank God for Nancy Wheeler. And sometimes even a tank. And sometimes… even that doesn’t work. Especially if you don’t stay in the tank.

Eventually, the really big ones and our military took each other out. We lost 95% of the human population in about a year. Mean, that’s one way to combat overpopulation issues, but… that’s a lot of Bobs… and a lot of Barbs that never deserved to die (Billy can suck my --).

Those of us who survived, we hid anywhere we could. Bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So, for the last seven years, I’ve been living in an underground bunker. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Really. It’s a great group of people, and we all love each other. It’s kinda what I imagined college would have looked like (not like I’d ever be caught dead there even before all this shit).

“Are you sure he’s asleep?”

“Who?”

“Eddie. Who else?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep.”

“Hang on. Shh.”

“He’s not awake.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just you.”

“I just… I don’t…”

“Eddie. Eddie.”

“See? He’s not awake. It’s just you.”

Dear Stevie,

I am wide awake. I’ve just gotten really good at not really moving or breathing. Being stuck in a survival bunker with a bunch of people who have all found their soul mate is less than ideal. Karen and Ray got together a few months ago, so they’re still kinda in their honeymoon phase. It is super physical. Good for them. They’re both very attractive and apparently quite flexible.

Hey, life’s short. Especially down here.

After Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of demobats, he and Ava became inseparable. So, pretty much everyone’s coupled up down here. Our first baby was born last winter. It was super emotional.

Welcome to the apocalypse, kid.

The food sucks. At least you’ll never know what you’re missing.

Kala and Connor got together after Sharon died. Sharon was a cow that ate a box of laundry detergent – it was a pretty Ozzy move – and now we only have one cow. Her name’s Debbie. Debbie is great. Debbie’s not our only food source. We actually have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It was easier in the beginning, you know, before we ran out of bullets. Facing down one of those things with a janky handmade weapon is no walk in the stuck-up suburban neighborhood dog park. Or so they tell me.

I don’t go on the hunting parties. They need me in the kitchen. I’m kinda the, uh… the chef of the bunker. I know, I know. Ironic that the guy who lived off a diet of Yoohoos, weed, and Combos is the chef. Laugh it up Harrington, but everyone likes my Minestrone.

Being the only single person in the bunker has its perks too. I get to hang out with Tomy Omnibot 2000. Of course, he’s not much for conversation. The core battery’s shot, just like every other Tomy, I’d imagine. Actually, I’ve never seen a working one.

Sure wish you were here, Stevie. I’d love for you to meet everyone.

[pessimisticshapewithablog]

Whoops...

I got into heated debate with someone after posting my COTL theories in the official lore COTL discord. Aaaaaaand I think i bungled the introduction. Why am I like this...🙃

It wasn't even that I cared that they disagreed, it was their reasons:

"You didn't consider the ages of the characters, which is never referenced in-game, for this to be plausible, see theories can't be used to explain the things we don't know because they are based on speculation. Now let ME make baseless assumptions divorced from Canon because my speculations are the only ones that matter"

To be specific, they kept saying it was impossible for Aym and Baal to be Narinder's children due to us not knowing the timeline for those things to occur and the ages of the characters. All of which we are never told and is not ever referenced in-game. SO I didn't consider it when making the theory. They kept trying to apply real life, human lifespans to these funny animal characters. I should of dropped it but that was too ridiculous to let go.

"Your theory is incorrect because it didn't answer why this other thing that the theory wasn't made to explain, happened. But also I never disagreed with your theory"

I have no idea what they were trying to get at here. What my theories are about is literally in the title. Also there is/was a backlog of them disagreeing with the theory.

"If the TOWW was lonely, then his followers or the shamura would have sacrificed some folks so he wouldn't be alone. And the timelines and more stuff that is never explained in-game."

What. The. Fuck. Were they on about. How did they think Shamura, who imprisoned TOWW against his will, would care if he wanted company? They wanted him DEAD! They wanted the theories to solves these plot holes, and I'm like, if you want actual lore you're gonna have to ask Massive Monster. I just make theories.

Theories are nice and all but if the rely to much on speculation, ya know, the thing that theories ARE, Then it's just fan lore and headcanons that should NOT be used to try and explain and understand things that are never stated in Canon..

As a person who has been in fandom for years now, I wanted to bite my phone in half. The people who work on the shows and games we love will not and cannot flesh out every part of the fantasy worlds they create for us to consume. BUT they do leave hints and clues for us to follow by sheer coincidences, be it in character designs or dialogue. I kept trying to explain to them that these characters were DESIGNED. Baal and Aym could have been any animal and any color but they were made to resemble TOWW, there is SOME implied connection to him. Explicitly shown in Canon, no less!

Forneus would have to be atleast a thousand years old to have mothered children with TOWW, which totally implausibly for some reason.

Yeah, what's your point? Her age is never revealed to us. AND are you saying this giant cat lady wearing a onesie who lives in the woods and gives gifts has to abide by irl human life expectancies? Are you foreserious. She is wearing a fancy pope hat for god's sake!

I'm at liberty to challenge theories that are too speculative and violate Canon, even though I consistently tried to apply my assumptions based on something NOT in Canon to challenge your theory based on observable Canon.

See, this is why I don't play well with others. If you're going to critique my content atleast do it right. And don't be a hypocritic. I am well aware that my theories...are THEORIES. But I make an effort to reference and be knowledgeable about the content I'm theorizing about. If you aren't as knowledgeable about whatever you want to challenge someone else on be prepared to be metaphorically ripped to shreds. They stopped replying after this.